#an amazing stable defense
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Rafa is a whole one man defense team
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Thoughts on remadora?
thank you very much for the asks, anons!
while they are by no means my otp, i really enjoy remadora as pairing - and i think they’re fully up there among the canon couples in terms of being an amazing vehicle through which to explore all sorts of questions about life and love - which i am aware is a sufficiently controversial statement that it involves an immediate engagement with some discourse…
because remadora girlies [gender neutral] get an enormous amount of shit within the fandom, particularly from fans who consider wolfstar to be a more plausible pairing for lupin than tonks. i have seen remadora shippers called homophobes for simply enjoying the couple, justified with the bizarre idea that it disrespects remus' relationship with sirius [so... the non-canon one?] to put them together. i have seen tonks turned into a pathetic shrew who is trying to keep remus from the real love of his life by trapping him with an unwanted baby. i have seen remadora shippers get a lot of the usual stuff that people who prefer the canon-endgame couples do [that to ship a canon pair is boring, that it is indicative of a lack of talent, that it indicates an uncritical support for jkr] magnified to eleven because tonks has the temerity to be a barrier to remus’ relationship with the fandom’s favourite hot and brooding man.
obviously, this is bullshit - primarily because its unreasonable and cruel to invest so much time and energy being mean to people because of their harry potter shipping preferences [fandom should never be that deep].
but it’s also a disappointment to me personally because it means that it can be very hard to find the sort of remadora i like without looking like i’m coming to contribute to the pile-on. because where many remadora fans and i don’t see eye-to-eye is that i have absolutely no interest in thinking about them as a relationship which is actually functional. and, all too often, i find myself sifting through fics which do prefer to interpret them like this - as romantic and passionate and stable - largely, i think it’s fair to say, as a defensive move against the tide of “urgh, imagine shipping that” nonsense - even though all the evidence of canon is that they are… very much not.
i am aware of the pottermore article which smoothes the edges of lupin’s canonical reaction to tonks’ feelings for him in half-blood prince - but, while i read this as something of a retcon to make the relationship more palatable, i also don’t think that assuming that both tonks and lupin’s attraction to each other was sincere precludes them being as dysfunctional as they canonically are. i don’t go in for the common anti-remadora argument that tonks “forces” him into a relationship with her - it’s clear in half-blood prince that it’s not only her who has discussed her feelings with molly and arthur weasley, lupin is definitely flirting with her when they pick harry up in order of the phoenix, lupin is an adult man [no matter other power imbalances between him and tonks - such as the fact that she is an agent of the state which oppresses him] who possesses the capacity to refuse her advances, and - since teddy’s conception is not immaculate - he has no issue with enjoying a sexual relationship with her even if he then wants to run away from the product of that.
instead, what i like with remadora is that they reveal something which goes against the grain of the rest of the series: that love is not always enough. throughout the seven-book canon, we see time and time again the idea that love - and, crucially, love-as-noble-suffering and love-as-sacrifice - is enough to overcome any problem. entire civil service collaborating with a terrorist regime? don’t trouble yourself, love has won. your mother dying in childbirth leaving you to be neglected in a state institution? your own fault you’re not interested in love.
i understand the genre reasons for this, but i also love the way in which lupin especially exists on the margins of these genre conventions [just as he exists on the margins of wizarding society!]. i’m always struck in deathly hallows that he’s the only person who’s actually realistic about the demands of war - particularly when he tells harry that it is breathtakingly naive for him to think he can get through the fighting without having to shoot to kill - and that part of him having to be shuffled out of the way when harry tells him to return to the pregnant tonks is because, were the story focused on realism, the idea that a wanted man who is considered an unhuman by the state fleeing in order to guarantee the safety of his wife and unborn child becomes eminently reasonable and harry's defense of the nuclear family embarrassingly unradical.
and so i like the idea of lupin seeing tonks - and tonks seeing lupin - initially as just a bit of fun, as the two of them being just two chill single people who think the other is hot and interesting and want to bang because of it.
[which is something fandoms in general really struggle with as a concept. we like epic love stories - and you won't find me objecting to that! - but we're less good at thinking about casual sexual attraction or transient friendships, and how these can be transformative and meaningful without having to end up going any sort of distance.]
and i then like the idea of the relationship being forced into a profundity it doesn’t really have the juice to sustain by the sheer avalanche of grief which besets the two of them - sirius, dumbledore, mad-eye, ted - and by the pressure of the war and the fact that the order is scrambling and the hangover of remus' self-destruction in half-blood prince which makes each cling to the other as a life-raft. i like remadora as something codependent and messy and strange and sad, and i don’t think this prevents it being sincere and fun and based in mutual attraction, but instead that these positive qualities can exist in conjunction with the fact that, without the war, it would have been a summer of fucking and that was probably it.
on tonks herself, i don’t think i can say it better than @evesaintyves in this meta on her character. i’ve been really uncomfortable with quite a lot of stuff i’ve seen recently which has taken against the idea that tonks can be meaningfully read as queer on the basis of what we find in the text, above all because it so often comes with the implication that one cannot imagine her in her canon endgame pairing and presume that she’s something other than straight or cisgender. eve sets out an excellent case for tonks as bolshy and liberated and in tune with herself and fun and confused and in flux and still figuring stuff out about who she is and where she’s going - and this translates, may i say, to an astonishingly beautiful way of writing her, lupin, and the dysfunction inherent between them which i highly recommend you read.
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Old Money pt. 2
Pairing: Carlos Sainz x show jumper!reader
Faceclaim: Jessica Springsteen
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yourusername
Bahrain
Liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari, usajumping and 50,183 others
yourusername First half of the week completed! So proud of @/carlossainz55 for bringing home P1. Now it's my turn 😉
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carlossainz55 All because of my good luck charm! Can't wait to be with you this week
yourusername Te amo ❤️
scuderiaferrari Make sure you bring that cornicello for luck!
yourusername Putting it in my jacket pocket as we speak
charles_leclerc Yn Carlos almost left without me tell him that's not fair
yourusername He says he's sorry and he'll give you the window seat on the flight to Jeddah
charles_leclerc All is forgiven
usajumping Carry that energy into this week!
blackfireproofs AHA YES THE POWER COUPLE RETURNS
parispodium I have been looking forward to this for longer than I am willing to admit
carlossainz55
Doha
Liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari and 289,203 others
carlossainz55 My love! So excited to have been able to watch @/yourusername take the top step this week. Two more trophies to add to the shelf
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yourusername We're gonna need a bigger shelf
landonorris That's such a flex. Don't spare us lowlings
yourusername One day you'll get a shelf too
landonorris You know what
carlossainz55 Easy, you two
charles_leclerc I never knew these could be so stressful
carlossainz55 I thought you were gonna chew through your own lip
parispodium Oh hun, welcome to the world of competitive show jumping
scuderiaferrari If you come back into the garage smelling like a stable one more time, Carlos
yourusername
Jeddah
Liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and 48,102 others
yourusername Managed to catch him off guard 🥰 Another great weekend @/carlossainz55! I love you so much
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carlossainz55 Always manage to do better when I know I have you watching me
yourusername And you always manage to give me a good show
charles_leclerc What do I have to do to get you over to my side of the garage
yourusername Muffins. Chocolate chip muffins. Specifically made by your mother.
charles_leclerc Deal.
scuderiaferrari Royal Couple of Maranello. Calling it right now
chiliconcarlos So like. To what Gods do we sacrifice to in order to get boyfriends like Carlos...
parispodium IDK but when you find out let us know
landonorris Okay, yes, Charles' mom's muffins are actually the best things ever but what do I have to give you in order to get you in the McLaren garage...
yourusername Wear Ferrari red
yourusername
Melbourne
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yourusername His face when I asked if we could do a shoey after his win will never get old
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carlossainz55 In my defense, it came out of the blue
yourusername It was a valid question!
danielricciardo Are we doing shoeys? I'm on my way
landonorris Wait for me I got little legs!
yourusername I cannot believe I'm seeing this rn
parispodium God, they are. Goals.
blackfireproofs Yn's ability to bring the entire grid together will never not amaze me
scuderiaferrari We're gonna need you in the garage every weekend. We don't make the rules
carlossainz55 I support this message
carlossainz55
Miami Beach
Liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari and 409,104 others
carlossainz55 Nothing quite like being the date of the winner
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yourusername My loudest cheerleader
carlossainz55 It helps if you always have something to cheer for
teamkpf @/yourusername Are you gonna leave some wins for the rest of us this season?
yourusername Only if you're nice to me
scuderiaferrari @/usajumping Are we gonna have to work out a custody agreement with these two?
usajumping I think we're rapidly approaching that line, yes
blackfireproofs The way that Ferrari is liking all her posts too
parispodium I'm new to F1, does Ferrari do the Red Bull thing of having a load of different athletes across a bunch of different sports?
blackfireproofs They don't that I know of but they should start. Yn would be such a grab if they could get her name to their brand officially
yourusername
Madrid
Liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, landonorris and 39,634 others
yourusername A little downtime never hurt anybody
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carlossainz55 Rest and recharge, ready to win again
yourusername Gotta fill up that new shelf one way or another
landonorris Why wasn't I invited
carlossainz55 You wanted to come on the romantic weekend?
landonorris ...yes
yourusername Invest in some earplugs
blackfireproofs They are the blueprint I swear
chiliwilicarlos I'm absolutely feral for them. One of these days I'm going to go off the edge and not come back
carlossainz55
Emilia-Romagna
Liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, landonorris and 289,103 others
carlossainz55 Nothing quite beats eating freshly made pasta across from the love of your life
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yourusername Crazy, it seems like we had the same night
carlossainz55 Almost like you were my date or something. Weird
landonorris Unfair. You heard how much I was craving pasta and now you do this to me
carlossainz55 When you finally find a girlfriend then you can come on the pasta dates
yourusername Oh we have a few more years of peace then
landonorris Yn you're so nice to me
blackfireproofs I will never recover from them
yourusername
Maranello
Liked by carlossainz55, teamkpf, scuderiaferrari and 7,293 others
yourusername 👀
Comments on this post have been turned off.
scuderiaferrari
Liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 201,244 others
scuderiaferrari We are thrilled to announce our new partnership with @/yourusername! Please welcome Yn Yln to the Ferrari athlete family!
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yourusername So thrilled to start this journey! Thank you thank you!
carlossainz55 My girl 🥰
charles_leclerc Another teammate to annoy! Best Christmas ever
yourusername Slightly less thrilled
carlossainz55 It's August...
parispodium This was spoken into existence
yourusername
Milan
Liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari and 9,120 others
yourusername First event as a Ferrari athlete! Could not have had a better date either 😉
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scuderiaferrari Brought a certain glow to the red carpet!
carlossainz55 You're a much better date than Charles, mi amor
charles_leclerc I take offense to that. Deep, deep offense
yourusername It's okay Charles, you're always welcome as the third wheel
landonorris I thought I was third wheel
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All photos from Pinterest, Instagram, or Google Images
#f1 fanfic#f1 social media au#f1 x reader#f1 x you#social media au#carlos sainz social media au#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz fanfic#f1 imagine
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7 for Geraskier? 💕
7. "I used to compare your attention span to a goldfish, but I've since then learned that you are much, much worse."
Geralt does nothing to hide his amusement as Jaskier slinks out of the alderwoman’s house, looking like a puppy that just got scolded for making a mess of the carpet. In this case, it seems the carpet is the alderwoman’s pride, judging by the shouting Geralt can hear from inside the house.
“What did you do this time?” Geralt asks.
Jaskier glares at him. “The good thing is we have until nightfall to get out of town before I get put in the stocks.”
“Huh, guess you didn’t fuck her sister then.”
“Nothing so sordid.” Jaskier sniffs disdainfully, as if doing just that to a baroness isn’t the reason they got kicked out of the last town where they stopped. “I may have misremembered an important piece of information.”
“What’s that?”
The shutters of the windows above them fly open. The alderwoman leans out, pink-cheeked with rage. “You forgot these, Jaspar,” she snarls before dropping the shredded tatters of what were once Jaskier’s hose to the ground. Looking triumphant, she slams the shutters again.
“Ah, well.” Jaskier looks down at the hose. “Those were only my third-favorite pair.”
Geralt arches an eyebrow as Jaskier retrieves the pieces. “You called her the wrong name, didn’t you?”
“Perhaps. But in my defense, Cordelia and Camille are very similar names.”
“They really aren’t.” Geralt shakes his head. “You spent three days in her bed.”
“Yes, but she only introduced herself once and I was rather distracted at the time. You saw her.” Jaskier casts a wistful glance over his shoulder.
Geralt claps a hand on his back and steers him away. “You know, I used to compare your attention span to a goldfish.”
“That’s uncalled for.”
“I’ve since learned you’re much, much worse.”
Jaskier huffs. “I pay attention to the things that are important, Geralt!”
“Like what?”
“Like music! And art! And…other important things!”
Geralt snorts. “Come on, let’s get Roach. You get to explain to her why she doesn’t get to sleep in a warm, dry stable for another night.”
***
Despite the anger coursing through him, Geralt is gentle as he sets Jaskier down on his bedroll. “You fucking idiot.”
Jaskier’s eyes are glassy and unseeing as he stares straight ahead. His chest rises and falls rapidly with his panicked breathing. “This is temporary, right? Please tell me it’s temporary.”
“Yes,” Geralt grits out. “It’s temporary. Which you would know if you were paying attention earlier. You clearly fucking weren’t, because then you would have heard me when I told you not to get within range of the grave hag’s tongue.”
“I was—”
“If you say distracted—”
“You looked very fetching in the sunset! I was inspired. I had to write a few verses down.”
Geralt is suddenly very glad that Jaskier is blinded so he can’t see Geralt’s gobsmacked expression. “You nearly got yourself killed because you were inspired?”
“They’re very good verses, if I do say so myself.”
“You…” Geralt shakes his head. “You fucking goldfish.”
He stalks away, as much to get a cloth to clean up the mud and blood on Jaskier’s face as to put some distance between them.
***
“Jaskier,” Geralt says. “Remember when I told you that I always put on weight in the winter?”
Jaskier gnaws on his thumb nail. “Perhaps.”
“And remember when I told you that if you were going to force me to wear an outfit for the Countess’ wedding, you should account for that?”
“Are you sure you had that conversation with me? Could it have been another bard?”
Geralt gestures at himself. He’s crammed into a doublet and breeches so skin-tight that he’ll probably rip them if he takes too large of a step or tries to lift his arms above his head. “What the fuck is this?”
Jaskier smiles. “If it helps, your legs look amazing.”
“It doesn’t.” Geralt tries to fold his arms over his chest, then thinks better of it when the doublet makes an alarming tearing noise. “What the fuck were you distracted by this time?”
“I’d rather not say.”
Geralt snorts. “I’m not wearing this.”
“Geralt, do you know how much I spent on that?”
“Then you should have fucking sized it properly.” Geralt turns away.
“Oh,” Jaskier says in the tone that tells Geralt the bard is definitely checking out his ass. “I think I got the measurements perfect.”
***
Geralt keeps a hand pressed to his side as he lowers himself onto the bed. His skin crawls with the effect of too many potions. Even the single candle in the room seems blazing; he has to squint his eyes against the light. “Jaskier—”
“Here.” Jaskier shoves two bottles into his hand before Geralt can force the words out. Geralt looks down at them and sees Swallow and Golden Oriole. He remembers explaining the different witcher potions, what they did, and how to recognize them to Jaskier years ago, not expecting the flighty bard to remember much.
Geralt closes his eyes and downs both potions. When he opens them, he finds Jaskier has snuffled the candle, plunging the room into darkness.
“You remembered,” Geralt says as Jaskier settles down on the bed next to him, the familiarity of his presence soothing.
“I told you, love.” Jaskier drops a kiss on his cheek. “I always pay attention to the important things.”
***
Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome
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I 100% get it, I had started writing a script for a comic (developed off of old fanfiction that I revamped then revamped again in the DC universe) and immediately got Really Defensive because if I were to pitch it to DC and it got picked up that's just There now for Editorial and other writers to fuck with because they're a product of their own story and I feel would get turned into this certain flanderized (or worse since these characters are not White) over time. It hasn't gotten far/probably wouldn't have but I do think if I go forward it's gonna be indie route because I think once the character's story is through it needs to be left where it ended.
The defensiveness really blindsides you its wild!
tbh I think everybody who reads comics knows of at least one run that completely ruins a character, or a famously bad editorial decision or retcon that has negative consequences on canon for decades. The idea of that happening to your story or your characters is a genuine shot of anxiety that can really take the wind out of a writers sails.
I think about the Mark Waid interview where he talks about Flash: Fastest Man Alive and what they did to Bart's character, and how he openly said he'd rather Bart be dead than misunderstood/mishandled. Which is probably a lot of writers' sentiments about the characters' they created decades ago turning into something unrecognizable before their eyes.
But it's also an unavoidable reality of writing comics in an interconnected universe manned by corporate interests. It feels like if you want to commit to writing the characters you grew up loving or create new characters for that existing universe, there's some level of letting go that needs to be done. which is why i think despite not necessarily being as financially successful/stable or mainstream, the indie comics scene is still thriving with cool stories and amazing writers.
#asks#anonymous#there's a lot to be said about creative freedom and who gets to have it#on the outside looking in. it kinda feels like you only get free reign if you're already an established and successful writer#which on the one hand makes a certain amount of sense because yknow u want a guarantee of quality and new writers are a much bigger risk#but also so many of the characters i love like bart and thad and the young justice crew etc#only exist as they do because the writers and their stories were given room to breathe
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Oop!! I didn't know you were playing until I saw that amazing Max one (swoon!) As soon as I saw the title, I thought it would work beautifully with Light and Shadow too.
So, if you are still playing, how about a title inspired by Molly Grue?
Golden Bridles and Gentle Thieves
💚
Because you are my kindred and we share a softness, I think you know exactly what you were doing with that title and pointing me very deliberately towards Pero.
Two horses, both alike in dignity
In olde times where we set our scene.
A gal who finds them roaming free
Without saddles, pack or livery
Only bridles made of gold
The solitary story told
Of belonging to someone somewhere
Any other place but here.
The brown one takes the apple given
Lets himself be brushed and ridden.
The black one though, with rearing up
Refuses kindness, gives her a thump.
The lady does not tame the sable.
Lets him follow her and the chestnut to her stable.
The bridles can't be taken off
The chestnut whinnies, the black one scoffs.
A month or more the horses stay
One mopes in the pasture, one slumbers in her hay.
And every time she gathers rye
She finds it stolen, and the horses shy.
The brown one owns up to what he's done
But the sable is the prouder one.
She resolves to earn the black one's heart
Offers apples, carrot tarts.
Yet whenever she is village bound,
She saddles her pretty stallion brown.
Sable follows darkly by
But keeps his distance, and a keen eye.
Word gets around about golden bridles,
Villagers stare, travelers idle.
A woman living all alone?
One night four men invade her home.
They do their best to reign the horses.
One man with knives, another who forces
Our lady from her bed and to her knees,
Ties her so she cannot flee.
But the keen ear of her sable friend
Hears her cries, comes to defense.
Running down each man in course
There's none so terrible as this black-maned horse.
And when the last man is bloody pulp
Our sable falls. He can't get up.
He risked a knife to save the girl
His life pools out in a bloody swirl.
She cradles his poor head and cries
Removes his bridle, kisses his eyes.
She turns to find another man
Long blonde hair, ruddy tan,
A golden bridle hangs from his arm
And for some reason, there's no alarm.
When she turns back to their mutual friend,
There lies a man.
But no longer dead.
A curse was placed upon two thieves
To become themselves objects of greed.
It took a selfless act to solve--
A sacrifice of hard-won love.
So here we leave our friends to discover
Just how to live and love each other.
The men no longer live thieving lives....
Unless you count the lady's pies.
.
send me a made up title
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Can I just say how much I appreciate the fact you don't stray much from the movies?
It's just so refreshing to see a fic that is built on a clear, unbiased and simple canon base. This way, as you demonstrated, a writer not only has the ability to further explore the main themes and ideas introduced in the source material, but they can also go ahead and naturally develop their own by branching out on those fundamentals. They can offer their perspective by using the source material to their advantage, instead of working against it or even worse, trying to include all contradicting canon aspects. Part of writing a fic is kind of like offering your input in a conversation/disagreement. You have to listen carefully to what the other person is saying in order to form your answer...If you're listening to a thousand different people who are all saying a different thing (in this case, The clone wars, legends, novels, comics ect), you won't be able to give an answer that makes sense, much less give a structured and stable opinion.
I love how you were like "I know star wars is entering an era of a shit ton of spin off content with seemingly no end and most star wars fans know shit like who chewie lost his virginity to and what the kessel run is but screw this. The movies and maybe some late night wiki research is enough."
And you were right.
It's so funny, because I feel like I do ultimately stray pretty far from the movies. Not in terms of events I guess, but especially the prequels, I reject some of the underlying assumptions of what is said on screen and just treat it like fallible people strongly asserting opinions that no one calls them on. See: everything I ever assert about the Force/Anakin's "destiny."
I do think it helped me to stick with limited material. And it wasn't even because I saw all of this new SW content coming. I've mentioned this before, but when I started writing Don't Look Back (when it was just Like Fire and I naively believed I was gonna be done in 200k words, lol, rip past me) I hesitated a lot because as far as I was concerned, I wasn't a Star Wars Fan.
I'd watched the OT and PT multiple times. I knew that novels and games and cartoons existed, I knew people had consumed them all. I had been reading some SW fic because @mylongsufferingroommate had been sending me stuff they were enjoying and I was having fun with it. But like, I would never have called myself a Fan. I got goaded into writing this fic by people who knew me too well and really wanted a political thriller. I wouldn't have called them Star Wars Fans either.
Limiting myself to the six movies I had watched was a preemptive defense mechanism against a fan base I wasn't sure would want to accept me. My thin skin is my own problem, but every time I think about writing in a new fandom the same sort of nerves take me: what if my fanon is "wrong" and people are mean?
I guess what I'm trying to say is thank you so much to everyone who gave me a chance and encouraged me and were excited and shared that excitement.
And please, for the love of all the sky and stars DON'T GATEKEEP FANDOMS.
Don't tell people their canon is too big (@blue-sunshine-mauve-morning and @chancecraz have amazing fics that are much more compliant than mine to the broader canon, as a quick example), and definitely don't tell people their canon is too small. Walk away if you aren't enjoying something. Give compliments when you like something that is unique in a fandom you're familiar with. Be patient with people, be kind.
I could easily have given this story up if people hadn't been patient with me. I got comments as early as my first chapter from people who were angry with a single thing that I said and felt the need to tell me I was wrong. I could have left. I could have stopped.
I'm glad I didn't. But I wonder how many other people have.
#writing#people are so kind#fandom#stop gatekeeping#please#canon what canon#me just playing around in my own little sandbox#hoping you all are enjoying the show#anxious someone might steal my toys#or knock over my castle#yes I'm still like this#my thin skin problem
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Secret Santa
Summary: What you thought would be the worst Christmas of all time, turned out to become quite the opposite…
Warnings: language if you squint, making out and FLUFF<3
A/n: I said i’d post this beginning of December, but I kept forgetting and then it was so close to be Christmas. So I just waited a few more days. I hope you like it and if you think it’s cringy… I’m sorry:) Merry Christmas!! I hope you have amazing holidays <3
“I’m sorry honey. But this is a very important meeting” your mom tried to explain with a motherly look on her face.
You couldn’t hold back your tears anymore.
“Who schedules a meeting around Christmas?! You just can’t be serious. Tell me it’s a joke.”
They were joking right? They didn’t just tell you that they gonna leave two days before Christmas to attend a business meeting in Washington.
“Y/n Christmas is just a day like any other day. Yes, it’s unfortunate this year but who do you think pays for our house? Food? Vacation? Investors like Luke Montgomery. So if you want a roof over your head and food on the table, get it together and stop complaining. We’ll leave you some money so you can order food.” Your dad left the room. You rolled your eyes and tried to suck your tears back up.
He was wrong. Christmas isn’t like any other day at all. Christmas was the only time where your parents would be home, relaxed and no business talk AT ALL. It would be all happy family and it meant everything to you, always has. You were aware that your parents work hard to give you this lifestyle, but honestly you didn’t even care about all those materialistic things. Of course it’s nice to be financially stable and live a certain luxury. You wouldn’t consider you and your family as super kooks. But you were doing fine. But they could put you in a barn and you’d be just as happy, as long as you weren’t alone.
“Honey we will celebrate New Years twice as big to make up for the missing Christmas ok? “
Your mom opened her arms and pulled you into a hug. You hesitated but hugged her back.
“It’s not the same mom. Not even close. I don’t care about New Years”
„I‘m sorry honey. It will be fun, I promise“
Your mom wiped away your tears and gave you a warm smile, before following your dad.
Christmas was in two days and your parents just left for the airport. You faked a smile and convinced your mom you’d be ok. Even tho this was just terrible.
You closed the front door and let out a deep sigh. You were so angry and frustrated so you decided to clear your head and go to the country club. Topper would for sure be there. You and Topper have been childhood friends since forever.
Walking in, you immediately heard the familiar voice of Topper Thornton.
“Hey y/n! Come here!” He waved you over.
You made your way over to the table where he was sitting with Kelce. Drinks on the table.
Your bad mood must’ve been obvious because Kelce immediately made a comment.
“Damn what’s up with you? Where is your holly jolly Christmas mood?”
“Yeah. Shouldn’t you annoy everyone with cheesy Christmas songs already?“ Topper added.
You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.
“No holly jolly me this year… my parents just left. They won’t be home for Christmas.”
“What?! You love Christmas.” Topper said tilting his head.
“Yeah no shit Sherlock! Why do you think I’m in a fucking bad mood”
You didn’t mean to snap at him like that, but your emotions overcame you.
“Woah easy there grinch” Kelce threw is hands up in defense.
“I’m sorry. I- I’m really upset about this” you let your hands drop and picked at your nails.
“I know. Come here.“ Topper got up and came closer.
He pulled you into a hug. And a tear rolled down your cheek.
“I would make you celebrate with me and my family but we’re leaving for Florida tonight”
“No it’s ok. I’ll just order some food and bake cookies or something like that“ you sniffled.
Both boys gave you a soft smile and you haven’t noticed Rafe walking in. Who was now standing next to you. Grumpy looking as always.
You didn’t know what to think about him. He didn’t talk much to you and you were sure he didn’t like you. Just tolerated you because you were friends with Topper. He was just always there. Making sarcastic comments and sometimes giving you a hard time.
When you felt his presents you faced him. Meeting his eyes and immediately wiped away the tears on your cheeks.
“Anyway. I’ll go now. I hope you have fun in Florida Top”
You turned around to leave.
“Yeah. I’ll call you y/n” Top said.
You nodded.
“Bye Kelce” you waved at him.
“Bye y/n. Merry Christmas…” he said, genuinely trying to lighten your mood.
“Yeah, Merry Christmas” you chuckled and sighed deeply. Then you left.
Rafe watched you walk away until he sat down. Joining his friends.
“What’s up with her?” He asked dry.
“Her parents won’t be home for Christmas this year. She’ll be alone and is really upset about that. Sucks. Her parents are barely home anyway.” Top explained.
Rafe sat silent for a few seconds.
“She’ll get over it” he said and poured himself a drink.
Christmas Eve:
You were laying in bed until 4pm before you motivated yourself to get up, just to go downstairs to lay on the couch some more. Wrapping yourself in blankets and realising there wasn’t even a Christmas tree this year.
This was definitely the worst Christmas ever. Even that one time you had to spend Christmas in the hospital was better than this. You had a really bad appendicitis and had to get surgery. But your parents came to visit and spent time with you, watching movies in your room.
You forced yourself to watch some Christmas movies and then decided to order a pizza when it got late. You were watching “home alone” when the doorbell rang, you got up, opened the door and payed the pizza guy.
“Merry Christmas” he said smiling
“Merry Christmas” you replied with a forced smile.
You stood on the porch for a minute when you noticed a small box sitting on the porch bench. You were confused for a second and looked around if you could see anyone near. You picked it up and the tag on it said “Merry Christmas y/n”
Nothing else. You didn’t know who it could be from. It’s not your parents, obviously. You got your Christmas present early from them, it’s gonna be a trip to California.
It’s not from your friends either because you all agreed to just throw money together and go on a trip, instead of buying each other gifts.
The only explanation you had was that Topper maybe wanted to surprise you and told someone to drop this off.
You stopped the thinking and took it inside. You set the pizza on the counter and opened the gift. It was a bracelet with a deer charm on it. It was absolutely beautiful. You held it on front of your face to look at it closer. It was shiny and the little dots on the deers back were little diamonds.
“A deer?” You mumbled to yourself. You couldn’t wrap your head around the deer charm but it made you smile anyway. This is by far the most beautiful piece of jewellery you own and it definitely made your night better. But you were intrigued to find out who it was from, it had to be Topper.
You sat back on the couch and ate your pizza, the rest of the night went by fast and you ended up passing out on the couch, cuddled up and TV still running.
You woke up by the sound of your phone ringing. Whining you grabbed your phone and picked up the call.
“Merry Christmas!!” Toppers voice echoed through your head.
“Merry Christmas Top” you mumbled with closed eyes.
“How’s the mood sleepy head?”
You realised he was on FaceTime and you opened your eyes.
“It’s fine. How is Florida?”
“Oh it’s nice yk, warm”
“Yeah, hey Top?”
“Mhm?”
“Did you give this to me?”
You grabbed the bracelet from the coffee table in front of you and held it into the camera.
You didn’t wanna put it on yet, not before you 100% knew who it was from.
Topper squinted his eyes to have a better look and held his screen closer to his face.
“No? I was gonna bring you something from Florida” he shook his head.
“You don’t know who it’s from?” he added.
“No. It was sitting on the bench on our porch last night. The tag said “Merry Christmas y/n”
“But not who it’s from?”
“No.”
“Hmm. Your secret lover must be some kind of sugar daddy, because that is a really fucking expensive bracelet”
You held it close to your face once more, dangling it in front of your eyes.
“What’s the charm on it?”
“A deer”
“A deer?”
“Yeah”
“I have no clue y/n”
You let out a sigh.
“I think I’ll get a coffee from the new coffee shop and make some pancakes” you said with a soft smile.
“Sounds good. Keep me updated with the Bambi bracelet yeah?”
“Will do. Bye Top. Tell your parents Merry Christmas.”
“I will. Bye y/n”
You hung up and put your phone and the bracelet back on the coffe table.
You got up, stretched and that’s when it suddenly hit you. Bambi bracelet? You immediately had to sit down again.
Bambi was the nickname Rafe gave you a long time ago. But no, this couldn’t be. You physically tried to shake the thought out of your head.
There has to be another explanation. It can’t be from him.
You thought about it for a few more minutes, but Rafe was without a doubt the only person that calles you Bambi. You never understood why but it didn’t really bother you.
And that would be the only explanation for the charm of a deer. It wasn’t like a deer was your favourite animal or Bambi your favourite movie. It just wouldn’t make sense. But there is absolutely no way, Rafe wouldn’t do that. Not for you. He didn’t even like you.
While you got ready to leave the house to get some coffee, you thought about it so much that it gave you a headache. You kept repeating in your head “It’s not from Rafe” All of this made you realise that you secretly wished it was from Rafe.
When you opened the door, the cold air hit you and it felt amazing, almost blowing all those thoughts out of your mind.
You got into your jeep and drove off, “Santa baby” blasting through your speakers.
You parked in front of the shop, got out and walked over to the front door. That’s when you saw Rafe Cameron in front of the shop, leaning on his truck, looking at his phone.
Your heart started racing. Should I ask him? If it really wasn’t him, that would be so embarrassing.
You went back and forth in your own head until you finally found the courage to just go for it. The curiosity was just too big.
You walked up to him.
“Hey Rafe” you said smiling.
He looked up for a second, then looked back down at his phone.
“Hey” he said dry.
“Merry Christmas” you said friendly.
“Merry Christmas” he replied, not looking up from his phone.
He was a douche but he looked absolutely stunning, his hair parting in the middle, falling onto his forehead and wearing a button up that hugged his biceps tightly.
You stood there awkwardly for a while, just looking at him and thinking about a good way to bring up the gift.
“I- last-did you “
You stumbled over your words and Rafe looked up at you confused. He raised one eyebrow when you paused your stuttering to start over.
“Did you put a gift for me on my porch on Christmas Eve?”
“No? Why the hell would I?” He tilted his head and shoved his phone into his pocket.
“Are you sure? It’s a bracelet with a deer charm on it.”
You started to feel stupid.
“Well, must be from another lover because it wasn’t me” he said cold, staring into your eyes.
“Right…” you whispered.
You looked at your feet, feeling embarrassed.
“But-“
“Jesus Christ. Just go order your coffee Bambi!”
Rafes eyes widend and he started blushing when he realised what he just said.
“It was you!” You brought out in a high pitched voice. Eyes big and body filled with excitement.
He swallowed and clenched his jaw before talking to you again.
“Alright. Just don’t make a big deal out of it ok? I just didn’t wanna listen to you saying how this was the worst Christmas ever over and over again.” he said in a low voice, almost a whisper, like he didn’t want anybody to hear.
A huge smile crept on your face and you looked at him in awe.
“You didn’t have to Rafe” you said quietly and made a few steps towards him.
“Whatever” he tried brushing it off.
“Can I hug you?”
Before he could answer you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close. It took him a few seconds but surprisingly he started to wrap his arms around your waist and squeezed you tightly. He took a deep breath.
Why did that feel so right? He didn’t let go until you did.
You pulled away just enough to look at him, letting your hands glide down his body, stopping at his chest.
He gave you his signature grin and stared into your eyes. His hands still on your waist.
The moment was interrupted when Rose stepped out of the shop, holding two coffe trays in her hands.
“Rafe. Come take one” she commanded.
You let go of him and he walked over and took one of the trays from Rose.
“Y/n! Merry Christmas.” She cheered when she saw you.
“Merry Christmas Rose” you smiled softly.
Rose got into the passenger seat and Rafe handed her the other tray he was holding.
He closed the door and started walking around his car but stopped to walk towards you, pulling you in with one hand around your waist and placed a kiss on your cheek. Without another word he got into his truck and drove off.
Your cheeks were burning and suddenly you didn’t feel cold anymore. Did that really just happen?
You ordered your coffee and drove back home.
While making some pancakes you could still feel his hands on you and kept smiling to yourself. The way he looked at you made your legs feel like jello. You debated if you should call Topper and tell him, but you decided not to.
You spent the day exactly like yesterday. Watching movies, laying on the couch. It was a lonely Christmas, but definitely surprising.
„His heart grew three sizes that day“ you repeated after the narrator. Then your doorbell rang.
You opened the door and almost verbally gasped when you saw the face you’ve been thinking about all day. He stood there, hands in his pockets, hair looking perfect and looking at you in a way that only Rafe Cameron could.
“Rafe?” you said more to yourself than him.
You were so confused by his appearance that you just stood there, holding the door.
“Are you gonna let me in or is there a secret password?” he said sarcastically.
“Oh yeah sorry, come in” you replied awkwardly and stepped out of the doorframe. He walked in and you closed the door.
You smiled at him and waited for him to say something.
“I just thought you needed company on Christmas day, since you’ve been alone yesterday” he said like it’s obvious and shrug his shoulders.
Your eyes lit up at his explanation. “Yeah i’d love that” you replied smiling.
“I mean, if you have plans I can-“
“No please stay” you cut him off and he grinned.
He stepped a little closer. “So what were you up to?”
“Just watching movies” you said quietly because him being closer made you nervous.
“Let’s go then” she smiled and stared into your eyes.
You made your way over to the couch. He sat on one end you and you on the other. You threw him a blanket and put on another Christmas movie. You guys giggled, had some snacks and Rafe complained about the cheesiness of all the movies.
You caught yourself staring at him, admiring him. He looked so mesmerising and you imagined yourself laying in his arms, you never thought you would but he didn’t seem scary at all anymore. You imagined what it would feel like to have his huge arms wrapped around you, holding you tight.
“I know yout staring” he said grinning, eyes still focused on the TV.
You started blushing and took your gaze off him quickly. Rafe chuckled and then turned his head to look at you. Your eyes met his. You let your eyes wander from his to his body and back to his eyes.
“Come here” he lifted his blanket.
Your heart made a jump and you crawled onto him. His big arms wrapped around you and you rested your head on his chest. You could hear his fasted heartbeat. You took a deep breath. He smelled so good, his cologne was addicting.
You continued watching the movie cuddled up and he started to run his hand through your hair. It made you feel all warm inside and sent a shiver through your spine. Why was he so nice to you out of the sudden?
“Rafe I’m confused” you almost whispered.
“About what?” He whispered back.
“This”
“What confuses you?”
You sat up to look at him.
“I thought you didn’t like me” you said softly.
“Well you thought wrong” a grin appearing on his perfect face.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” you questioned.
“Why didn’t YOU say anything?” He replied shrugging his shoulders.
“Because I was sure you were gonna reject me”
“There you go. There is your answer” his hand reached up and he gently tugged a strand of hair behind your ear. You reached for his wrist and ran your fingers over it and down his forearm. His gaze shifted to the bracelet that was wrapped around your wrist. He grabbed your wrist with his other hand and looked at it closer.
“Do you like it?” he whispered smiling, looking at you.
“I love it.” You smiled back.
He pulled you closer to him by your wrist until you hovered over him. Hands placed on each side of his head. You felt his hands on your waist, giving it a squeeze. You looked at his perfect lips and finally bent down to kiss him. He immediately kissed you back and his soft lips made your heart race. Your lips moved in perfect sync and it felt like this was meant to be. You unconsciously moved closer and gently pushed your knee between his legs, which made him let out a low grunt. That sound made heat travel to your core. He ran his big hands softly under your shirt, running his fingers along your sides and over your back. He smiled into the kiss when he realised that you weren’t wearing a bra.
That’s when you suddenly pulled away.
“Are you hungry?” You said out of breath, lips plump from the make out.
“Not for food” his eyes were dark and a wide grin crept on his face.
You cleared your throat and could feel yourself blushing.
“Not even cookies?” your voice cracked.
Rafe scanned your face and realised you weren’t sure of this anymore. He took one hand off your waist and cupped your cheek, running his thumb over it, smiling at you softly.
“You wanna bake some?” he asked.
You nodded and got off him. Both of you got up. You bit your lip and got nervous. What if he’s pissed now?
“I-I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want to. I just-“
“You don’t need to explain yourself” he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into him a little more rough than he intended to.
“That’s not what I came for” he smiled softly.
You leaned against his chest, squishing your face against it. He wrapped both arms around you and placed a kiss on top of your head. You looked up at him and he gulped.
“Oh before I forget. What’s with my nickname? Why Bambi?” You asked genuinely curious.
“You do this thing with you eyes. It makes me all nervous and shit.”
“What thing?”
Instead of answering he ignored you and just grabbed your face with both of his hands and kissed you. You didn’t complain and didn’t bother asking again.
You made your way to the kitchen, put on a Christmas playlist and started baking. You laughed a lot and had a great time. You never knew Rafe could be that way.
He was standing on the opposite side of the counter, looking at the recipe once more while you were mixing some ingredients in the bowl.
Your favourite song came on (Happy Xmas by John Lennon) and you gasped, your eyes lit up and you dropped the whisk.
“What?” Rafe looked at you confused.
“That my favourite song!” You squealed, big smile on your face.
He giggled at your reaction and shook his head.
“Let’s dance!” You cheered.
“Hell no.” He chuckled and looked back down at the recipe.
“Oh come on. Please?” You pouted and stared into his eyes.
“Fuck” he let out in a groan.
“That’s what I meant! You can’t look at me like that” he sighed and ran his hand through his hair.
You bit your lip, smiling, still holding eye contact.
“Fine c’mere” he held his hand out for you.
You quickly ran around the counter and took his hand, he pulled you in, placing his other hand on your waist. You placed your other hand on his biceps.
You were staring into each other’s eyes, swaying to the music. It felt like a dream.
“You know, this isn’t the worst Christmas at all.” You confessed.
“Yeah. Could’ve been worse for you than dancing THE Rafe Cameron”
You rolled your eyes and he laughed at his own comment.
Then he spun you around and when he pulled you back in, he crushed his lips on yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing yourself as close to him as possible and Rafe slung his arms around you once again.
You both pulled away to look at each other.
“What was on your wish list this year?” You asked, hands sliding down to his chest.
He grabbed your face, softly running his thumb over your lips.
“You”
You looked at him in awe.
“That was so cheesy”
He broke into a grin.
“I know” he chuckled and placed his lips on yours once more.
#rafe cameron#rafe x y/n#obx#obx imagine#outerbanks rafe#rafe obx#obx netflix#obx2#rafe imagine#rafe outer banks#obx fic#outer banks#rafe fic#rafe x reader#imagine#rafe fanfiction#obx fandom#rafe fluff#christmas#christmas fanfiction
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Beautiful Beast
This is a post in HONOR of Grace Helen Burgess/Shelby. The 1st and original Mrs. Shelby and 1 great and true love.
At first, I wanted it to be "in DEFENSE" of Grace but nah..I changed my mind. I would like to celebrate her and not defend her for she is not a villain nor a bad person. Grace is one of the most stable, well developed and written character despite its limitations of her presence. She could have been more but SK decided otherwise...for the f***kin plot.
Haters are hating Grace for some illogical, non sense , hang ups and petty jealousies of her character and what she is to Tommy. Its like as if they love Tommy but does not want Tommy to be happy. Ridiculous,isn't it? Poor Tommy this and that but the chance he was actually happy, you hate on the 1 person who made him exactly happy? 🤣 Crazy.
Grace is not just a pretty face. She was an educated gal. Grew up with a well rounded family, a healthy one with ups and downs. A patriotic person who chose to become a spy to avenge her father. That is noble. In a time where rarely a spy is a woman, that is progress. Grace was independent, free spirited, sophisticated and classy. She stood for something more than herself. That is very admirable. Grace was already "somebody" even before he met Tommy. She had a life and path she thought she was going to follow. Most women at that time depend solely on a man, cant love without them but not Grace. She was smart. She was witty, manipulative and cunning. All true. Perfect for a spy or a detective, or an agent of the crown. She was powerful. She has her pride and integrity intact until she fell for a cold blooded gangster. For a bit, she lost it, her identity by falling in love. Imagine all your life, you are sworn enemy with the likes of Tommy only to end up loving him as the only man in your life?
See, that right there could have landed Grace as the victim. But, she didn't see it that way. She took her life back, in control, came clean at the expense of losing her heart and love but not her self respect and integrity. She did what she was told at first then she knew its not just black and white but grey then she chose for herself. She could have walked away and just have Tommy and hos whole family hang bit she didn't. She risk every bit of who she was to carve a different path of the new version of herself by actually staying true to herself. She took control of her own life, her own destiny because that is Grace. She messed up. She was not perfect. She came clean. She did not sulk or whine. She took responsibility. She took the beating. She moved on. She was built that way. Amazing, amazing woman! Tommy fell hard to this kind of woman. Tommy was the lucky one. She has to die for love. It sucks but Grace already knew that. She always does and did the moment she chose Tommy.
So to compare her to other PK women is blasphemous in my opinion or shall I say to compare her as the love of Tommy's life to other "loves" of his is just pure fallacy. Nowhere near what Grace means to Tommy other ladies can compete. They were loved out of loyalty, business, obligation and family. They can give Tommy all the sex he might crave, but they can never feel the void in his being. Grace was chosen out of love. He will always choose her in a heartbeat. Just pure love that nobody can come between regardless of time and distance. Nowhere Graces character is less than the others, too. In fact, she is way above them in every station. She is the alpha female. She is the boss. She was the best female character in PK.
The gif above reflects the scene that I find fascinating eversince. When Tommy said "beautiful beast" talking about the horse with baby Charlie, looking at Grace, I wondered that maybe it was really meant for her. She was beautiful but she was also a beast. She can run circles at you and bury you. She is her own person. Thats frightening for some. Nothing ever can change that even becoming Mrs.Shelby didn't change that. She was too good for Tommy but then again, she knew that already.
She even took a bullet. Oh, Grace, the woman that you are!
#tommy x grace#grace burgess#grace shelby#tommy shelby#peaky blinders#tommy x grace forever#thomas shelby#annabelle wallis#true love always win#cillian murphy
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Steve looked at his watch and frowned as he saw the time. Looking over at Danny’s office he saw that his husband was still there. Frowning a bit more he walked over, knocked, and tapped on his watch when he stepped inside, “You’re cutting it close, aren’t you?”
“I switched days with Rachel, so I got nowhere to be urgently. I am going to stop by the store on the way home, but I’m going to wait for traffic to not be hell.”
Even though his face spelled his confusion out well, he still asked, “What?”
“I know you have a set menu for tonight but I’ve been craving bruschetta. We’re only missing basil and parm I think.”
“Not that. You switched days with Rachel?”
“I did, yeah.”
“Why?”
“You can’t get out of your meetings. I know it bothers you if I go on my own because Kevin will be there. So today, Rachel will go to the PTA meeting and text me anything important. After a quick trip to the store, I’ll head home and start on dinner for us.”
“...you really did this? For me? Because I was jealous?”
Danny nodded, finally standing from his chair to stand directly in front of Steve and placed his hands on his husband’s chest, “Look. If this had happened when I first got to the island. And we’d been younger and more hot headed, and the move and divorce were still so fresh and I carried a lot more anger...I would have fought back. Gotten defensive. Would have made a whole stink about you not owning me or being able to tell me who I could or couldn’t be around. But we didn’t meet just yesterday, babe. We’ve been through so fucking much. I love you. And I respect you. As my husband. As our child’s co-parent. So if it bother you how ‘friendly’ someone is...then I’ll do what’s only logical. And switch days with Rachel until you’re free to go to those PTA meetings with me.”
Strong emotions swirled inside of him, it took him a moment to find his words. Finally, he managed to say,” Thank you.”
“I love you, remember that.”
Love and respected, and it still amazed him. He rests his forehead against Danny’s for a moment in gratitude, before tilting slightly so he could kiss him comfortably.
So, I have a personal love for jealous and possessive Steve. Him unleashing his inner animal on Danny is hot and I eat it up! But I can’t not reason out where the jealousy and possessiveness comes from. Which is insecurity that was never properly taken seriously, mixed with fears of abandonment, being left behind, not being important enough.
So this scenario and dialogue between them popped into my mind. Not enough for a full story, so it’s just a ficlet moment I wanted to put out there.
A new single dad pops up around the parent groups. Being a single dad, he joins Danny and Luke as they welcome him to the island and into their impromptu dad’s club that sorta formed, but the guy began to crush on Danny. First subtly but then not so subtly and Steve didn’t like it. But this is later on, so they’re more than well established, married, living together, things are stable. But he still feels as jealous as he would when he was 32. He doesn’t want to be a cliche, thankfully he and Danny are breaking a lot of bad cycles so he communicates.
And Danny listens.
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Spoke No More
Title: Spoke No More
Summary: Humans are pattern-seekers. They seek to find patterns, specifically ones that are pleasurable and add meaning in life. Humans are not meant to be limited to seeing the same four walls day in and day out. Solitary confinement means there is only one pattern that is pleasureless and meaningless in every way possible. Even with the daily visits of shades that masquerade as his friends, Virgil is still so alone.
Such an existence messes with one’s grasp of self after a time. An hour feels the same as a day and a day feels the same as an hour. Cramped, filthy cell or gleaming, luxurious castle--Virgil knows the truth. It matters not his surroundings, he is still in a machination designed by his captors for his impending demise.
Yet when a new pattern emerges, one that Virgil has not witnessed within the hundreds of iterations he has endured--there is a question that lingers with it; is it yet another ploy of his captors to extract valuable information from him? Or could it be a sliver of reality shining through? Sequel fic to Heard No More
Word-Count: 15k
Pairings: Platonic Lamp
Warnings: Whump, Malnutrition, Starvation Mention, Disassociation, Nightmares, Aftermath of Torture, Panic Attack, CPTSD, Crying, Injury Mention, Blood, Villain OC, Portrayals of Unsympathetic Sides (None of them are actually unsympathetic), Unreliable Narrator, Guilt, Angst with an Ambiguous Ending (It’s Part of a Series)
Hello there, I'm posting this because if I don't post this it will never see the light of day even though this fic could use more time to bake in the oven. This was created as part of the @tss-storytime big bang and @virgeandhis-pocket-protector was my artist partner. Please check out their amazing contribution here!
I have felt like I've been drowning the last few months due to ongoing events in my irl so I sincerely apologize for my infrequent communication on here and hope your year is going better than mine. Without further ado please enjoy.
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Part 1: Foul is Fair
Virgil stares at the huge swaths of fabric that frame the huge window of the Prince Quarters. There is a name for them—curtains, he thinks. Even though his mother made her living as a weaver, they did not have curtains in their small cottage. Instead, they used wooden shutters to block out unwanted light and slept close to the fire during the cold months to keep warm.
As a Shadow, he slept wherever he was commanded. A cellar, a field, a stable. He was fortunate if he was able to even have a blanket for his weary body to curl underneath. No, it was when he became Patton’s apprentice, that extravagances such as curtains became known to him. His mage apprentice quarters had white curtains. Not a bold, regal red such as the Prince’s Quarters.
It is still peculiar that His Eminence chose the Prince Quarters as the setting of his new lavish confinement. Why not Virgil’s former quarters? Or a supposed guest quarter? Even Patton’s quarters would be somewhat believable.
Furthermore, where does “Roman” supposedly sleeps? Virgil has not even seen his likeness in some time. In all the lies that His Eminence tells Virgil, He never informs him exactly why he is being kept in the Prince’s Quarters. It is almost insulting if He thinks Virgil is incapable of rational thought.
The illogicalness of it could simply be His Eminence’s ploy. He desires for Virgil to think this is a dream and dreams do not make sense. An obvious absurdity could be purposeful to hide away the more subtle absurdities. Virgil cannot let his defense falter for a moment against His Eminence.
The Prince Quarters is certainly a more appealing sight on his eyes than that of his cramped cell. It does not mean his eyes have not grown tired at looking at it. Isolation in a singular environment is torment regardless of one’s surroundings.
Humans are not meant to be limited to seeing the same four walls day in and day out. Humans are pattern-seekers. They seek to find patterns, specifically ones that are pleasurable and add meaning in life. Solitary isolation means there is only one pattern that is pleasureless and meaningless in every way possible. Such an existence messes with one’s grasp of self after a time. An hour feels the same as a day and a day feels the same as an hour.
The only way Virgil has survived is through sheer spite. If he doubts himself for more than a moment, he could not endure otherwise.
Virgil still cannot seem to grasp a coherent sense of time within the Prince Quarters. Time is a rushing fierce current of water and Virgil is helplessly caught in its current, tumbled and thrashed about.
Even so, time does run differently within the confines of the Prince’s Quarter. It is seemingly more linear, consistent in some ways. He continues to not dream—or at least possess any dreams he can remember. There is really only one dream he remembers. He does not know if it is even a dream. It is very possible it is another ploy, another form of His Eminence’s trickery.
All he knows is that he is in the Prince Quarters and it is dark. The intricate décor of the Prince Quarters is reduced to nothing but vague, shapeless silhouettes of the night. Within this darkness, is a figure. A person. Or at least he thinks this shade is a person. It moves around the room, muttering syllables under its breath. Virgil stays still, not giving any indication of being aware of it. But somehow, it knows.
“Virgil,” The shade says, assumingly turning sharply to face him. Virgil does not make a noise. He does not even move. He only stares at the living shadow looming above him.
“Why didn’t you—why did you—” It’s words dissolve into stifled sobs, “You were right, Virgil. I should’ve listened but I—I didn’t, I refused to—and—and I am sorry.”
The shadow collapses onto itself, falling, falling, falling—
“You’re still a moron, you know that?”
“While I am offended that you’d speak so lowly of me, the kingdom actually did not fall apart within the few hours of my absence.”
“Yet.”
The shade huddles near the foot of his bed. Virgil continues watching it with half-lidded eyes. The voice sounds vaguely like Roman. But a form of Roman that Virgil has never seen or heard. Even His Eminence’s frail interpretation is closer to the original than this one. Roman is always too haughty, too prideful to admit his faults. Even so, there is no wrongdoing for Roman to admit. It doesn’t make any sense.
Virgil has no one to blame for his torment, no one but himself. It is because he is weak, he is a shadow—an apparition. He should’ve died long before Patton claimed him as his apprentice. Yet selfishly, he cherishes it nonetheless. For a fleeting, few years—he knew some semblance of happiness he hadn’t known since his mother’s passing. It was everything to him and nothing to them.
Even though within the recesses of his mind, he dares to refer to Roman, Patton and Logan as friends—it is a lie. A sweet lie that comforts him through the groves of more bitter, twisted lies.
This shade, barely comparable to His Roman, insists otherwise, “I should’ve been the one—I deserved it, you didn’t—you shouldn’t have—”
Virgil doesn’t understand it. This must be a dream—there is no other explanation for it. His Eminence would not ever portray the others taking the blame—He enjoys twisting the knife that is reality too much. It cannot be anything else. It cannot.
There is also no explanation for what Virgil does next. Dream or not, he should not react. He should stay still, stay quiet. No rustling of the covers, no creak of the bed as his weight leaves it. All he knows is that somehow, he ends up kneeling by this shade, offering a hand.
“V-Virgil? You were--What?” This shade, Roman-But-Not, asks. Virgil prods his hand closer to the other’s line of sight. He does not think at first this Roman will accept it. But then a trembling hand clasps onto it. Virgil stands up, tugging Roman upright with him.
“Where—oompfh!”
He pulls them onto the bed. It’s where Roman should be resting—it is his bed after all. Perhaps this really is a dream—in that his mind is attempting to put to rest the absurdity of reality. Although in its own illogical rationale—as dreams often are apt to do.
He does not say anything to this Roman. If he did, then this dream would be that of a nightmare. So instead of words, he clasps tightly to Roman’s hand when the other tries rising from the bed. As tightly as he could muster—for his strength is oh so meager.
Somehow, it is enough to stop this Roman from leaving the bed. The probable prince also does not say any words of his own. A squeeze on Virgil’s hand and heaving breaths are the only things that indicate there is another person beside him.
Yet when Virgil regains consciousness, the Prince Quarters is empty of any indication that its true owner had visited within the last night.
Strange dreams aside, he starts to be able to eat solid foods more easily with only the occasional puking incident. His body hurts, but not like before. It helps when His Eminence has avoided any torments of the physical kind. His skin can no longer be described as raw and bleeding as a fresh cut of meat.
Not-Logan has remained the one to watch over him. Patton-lookalike has made a few visits, keeping up a cheerful stream of nonsense. Virgil refuses to acknowledge it, but there is a small part of him that has been growing too comfortable at the sight of this Patton. But the Piper Prince, the person whose quarters he currently inhabits? It has been a while Virgil has seen a glimpse of him aside from that odd specter. Virgil almost misses his appearance, even if it is just a fake. Even though he should feel more relieved that His Eminence has decided against using his face.
His Eminence has invited him to view the Library a few more times after the first visit. Like a stranded traveler in a desert thirsting for a drop of water, Virgil seeks it every time. It is a new pattern, an opportunity to briefly leave the confines of the Prince Quarters. Virgil still cannot find a crack, a weakness in the illusion. He suspects that the Library is a ploy to gain forbidden knowledge from Virgil’s mind.
It seems like a logical line of thinking. If you lead your victim into an illusion of a highly protected confidential library, the victim will associate it with their own forbidden protected knowledge. Sometimes, Logan asks him if he wants to read a book. Virgil simply shakes his head, willing to sit among the books. Logan oddly enough, doesn’t insist on it.
Virgil wonders how much His Eminence is willing to be patient before he gives up on this ploy. Eventually, He will snap. He has to. But the Prince Quarters is still a prison cell and he is still a man slowly losing every bit of his sanity. The truth is that his most paranoid thought is that none of this is real. Or real in the sense that he is still living and breathing.
What if this was some cruel afterlife designed by the gods for his failures to live a more fulfilling life? Best case scenario, it involves him fulfilling a requirement to pass on to the true afterlife, where he can be with his mother. Worst case scenario, he’s trapped here forever.
Or maybe instead of the last moments of his life flashing before his eyes before he dies, the Ether has chosen to leave him with this absurdity.
He blinks and the curtains are nonexistent. He sees not curtains but lines upon lines of rusted iron bars. A face lies half-hidden behind them, with eyes that gleam a bit too unnaturally. Virgil stumbles aback, his heart beating faster at the sight of it.
“What do you want?” He demands, baring his teeth in an animalistic fashion. He doesn’t understand why the visitor is here. He wants to be left alone in the few remaining moments he has left.
The visitor looks at him, smiling. It is a semi-circle that does not convey cruelty but something just as violent; kindness. There are lines on the visitor’s face—crinkles that indicate this visitor has done much of this smiling in his life. The visitor opens his mouth and says—
“Virgil!”
Without any rhyme or reason or explanation, Roman is here. It is too much of a coincidence. It makes Virgil on edge as to what His Eminence has planned in this. This Roman does not, however, weep or make guilty proclamations. Instead, he sits by the bed, detailing his latest duel against his sword fighting instructor.
“So just as he was about to disarm me, I managed to parry and then with quick thinking on my part–”
There’s a knock on the door. It startles Virgil. Never before has there been a knock at the door. Even Roman seems surprised by it, or at least acts surprised. He stands up immediately, positioning himself between the door and Virgil.
“Who is it?” Roman growls, a hand clutching tightly to the hilt of his sword.
“Why, only the most beguiling knight of the realm,” Answers a seasoned, witty voice. It’s familiar. Why does it sound so familiar?
Roman’s hand flies away from his sword as the tension is sharply swept from his demeanor. He practically bounds across the room to open the door. Virgil watches, his reed pen loose in his grasp. It’s the first time he’s really seen Roman this excited since…well. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think this was really his Roman.
“You’re back!” Roman cries, throwing the door wide open. His back blocks Virgil’s view so he has no idea who he is speaking to. Only that the visible tuft of peppered black hair confirms it can’t be Logan or Patton.
“What, missed me?” The person asks and their question is clearly answered by Roman throwing his arms around them in an encompassing embrace. They share a few words, but Virgil can’t hear them.
“Virgil, look it’s Remy,” Roman says, eyes bright. He clearly expects Virgil to know who it is, but he doesn’t. Is this another ploy of His Eminence? Did He expect Virgil to be more at ease with a foreign face than that of those he treasured most?
Virgil stares, refusing to give His Eminence any sort of reaction.
“Hey Virgil, it’s been a while.” The Knight, apparently Remy, greets him. His voice is softer, more rounded than the shrewd mirth thrown Roman’s way. That isn’t…that doesn’t feel right. Virgil does not know why, but that feels just as wrong as any of the uncharacteristic quirks that occur when His Eminence portrays Roman, Patton or Logan.
Virgil takes a long breath. It does nothing to quell the racing of his heart or the frost that creeps up every inch of his body. If this Remy is disappointed by Virgil’s lack of acknowledgement, it is not made known. Instead he turns to face Roman.
“Your father, The King, is requesting an audience with you.” The knight tells him.
Roman stiffens, the brightness within him extinguishing to burnt coals. “What does he want?”
Remy coughs out a dry laugh, “As much as His Majesty would like it to be the case, I cannot read minds. That is for you to find out when you go to speak with him. I’ve heard you’ve ignored his last two summons, I suggest for the sake of everyone’s benefit, you do not ignore this one.”
At the end of his words, Remy glances towards Virgil. An unspoken message, one that Virgil does not understand. This Roman seems to understand, as his posture straightened, elongating into the perfect poise expectant of a Crown Prince.
“Virgil, I–I must go,” Roman says, “but Remy will keep you company.”
“My prince, I am a busy servant of the crown, so presumptuous of you to claim I may be able to spare the time to keep him company.”
The reed pen in Virgil’s hand drops with a dull thud into his journal pages. It is one thing for Patton and Logan to speak so freely with Roman–who is this Remy to speak with the same nonchalance?
“Must I make it a command?” Roman huffs, exasperated more than any hint of outrage, “you would not be here unless you had the time and desire to spare.”
“Right you are, my prince,” Remy smirks, leaning back against the wall, “your sense of perception seems to have grown in my absence. Go now, lest you want to keep His Majesty waiting.”
Roman rolls his eyes but he does not protest the idea. As his hand makes contact with the doorknob, he looks over his shoulder at the two of them.
“Remy, promise you’ll keep him safe?”
“Of course–your will is mine to fulfill,” Remy says, faithfully reciting the knightly pledge to their lords, “Now go.”
This satisfies Roman at last, who leaves without sparing one last look towards Virgil.
He leaves–and for the first time for perhaps many, many months, Virgil is left in the presence of a face that does not belong to either Roman, Logan or Patton. Early on in his imprisonment, there were other faces.
Faces he did not recognize—the faces that captured him and presented him to His Eminence as a treasured sacrifice to earn His Eminence’s blessings. There were also the faces that shoved him into the cell and had occasionally been the faces to bring him food and water. Slowly, those faces faded from his awareness as His Eminence isolated him—insisting to be the only one to have the honor of breaking his will and spirit.
So why has His Eminence taken this unrecognizable form? If Virgil has refused to say anything in the face of Roman, Patton or Logan, why would he say anything to the face of a man he has no attachment to?
A soft clink disturbs Virgil from his thoughts. A knife. There is a small silver knife in Remy’s hands. Oh, oh. This is it, then. Virgil can see the ploy for what it is, now. This is His Eminence’s way of still inflicting pain onto Virgil. This Remy figment will slice into his body, cut him up and tell him that if he says anything to the others, he will produce the same harm onto them.
Remy’s eyes latch onto his own. He steps closer to Virgil, still clasping the knife. Virgil does not move away, remaining the same position as if he is just a statue that also happens to breathe air. He waits for the knife to knick his skin, narrowing avoiding vital arteries or organs but causing pain all the same.
“Here.” Remy says instead, holding the knife out to him, “This is for you.”
Virgil is no longer a statue that happens to breathe air. He is a statue that does not breathe air because statues do not need it to survive. Why is Remy offering him a weapon? Is this a taunt? A demonstration to show that even if Virgil is armed, all of it will be meaningless?
Yet Virgil cannot help himself as air flows through his lungs at long last. He reaches out, snatching the knife away. It is a simple practical knife, like the ones he once used when he was just a shadow and nothing more. He does not take time to admire it, slipping it away into the folds of his clothes. Remy stands there, making no attempt to take it away from him.
“It is hard isn’t it? To feel safe without a sliver of metal close by your side?” Remy says, the words slicing Virgil deep.
For it is true–the feeling of a knife close to his person is far too soothening to his soul than it should be. More than the steadiness of a comfortable resting place and food could ever provide. It almost makes Virgil prefer it if Remy had used the knife to inflict actual pain.
Remy continues on, “Now, I know this goes without saying but don’t let the others know of that knife–they wouldn’t understand that feeling the way you and I do.”
Then his hands move, making crisp, smooth motions. Knight, report?
Virgil cannot speak. He must not speak. As long as he can draw air from his lungs, he will not let words fall from his mouth. But his hands can speak. They were taught to speak first by his mother–forming simple words that allowed them to communicate with the Deaf merchant that would occasionally buy his mother’s crafts. Then as a Shadow–communication by other nonverbal means was essential. Silence is often a necessity.
His hands move before his mind can think. Good, all good. His throat burns all the same–just as it would if sound had attempted to come out. His hands tremble. If he had held onto the knife, he might’ve accidentally cut himself by now. His Eminence now knows he can speak–perhaps this is why His Eminence has never damaged his hands. He should’ve known this would be a possibility, an exploit that His Eminence would use. Similar to the attempt with the journal.
Hands hold onto his own hands. It is a gentle pressure, one that Virgil could easily escape its grip if needed.
“Sorry, Virge–I had no idea that would–well,” Remy’s eyebrows pinch together, “as I’m sure you know, I’m a man for impulsive follies.”
No, Virgil does not know this. Nor does he intend to convey such a sentiment in any discernible method of communication. More to the point–nothing that has occurred in the last five minutes has made any sense. For months, he has known what to expect from His Eminence’s mockery of Roman, Patton and Logan. He cannot predict the actions of a character that has no purpose in this pseudo play.
He blinks at Remy. This is enough for the knight to release Virgil’s hands, somehow.
“May I show you something?” Remy asks.
Now, this. Virgil knows what this means. It does not matter what Virgil wants, Remy will show him and it will be whatever His Eminence wants him to believe.
Even knowing this, there is a festering curiosity within Virgil. A small emotionless detached part of him idly wonders where His Eminence is attempting to accomplish.
Slowly, Virgil nods his head. This is all that is needed for a flame to burst into life in the cusp of Remy’s palm. It does not stay contained onto his palm. It dances from hand to hand, winding through the air as it morphs into various shapes. A dragon with terribly fierce teeth descending with a burst of flame. A bird, no a phoenix rising high before crashing and turning into flickers of flames. A great cat of some sort, prowling at some imaginary prey.
But the fire is more than a dragon, phoenix or great cat. There is something Remy is showing him. Remy is a Blessed–one who has been touched by the Ether. This is not surprising information to Virgil–for His Eminence could not twist his visage into the likenesses of others without calling forth the blessings of Ether.
“There is one other thing you should know about illusions,” Patton tells him after a show, “those trained in the illusionary arts are usually capable of concealing their Ether signatures–but sometimes if you concentrate and focus on following the Ether to its source, you can find the individual behind the illusion.”
Virgil can scarcely feel the stirring of the Ether within him. But the Ether that flows through Remy–weaving back and forth in bright fiery images? There is no concealment on his end, no masking the Ether that sings loudly through him. Ether that is untainted and unpolluted unlike the dark, oppressive Ether that His Eminence wields with force.
But that can’t be true. This has to be His Eminence. Because otherwise this would mean this is real–and that somehow, some way, he is not enduring another of His Eminence’s machinations designed to torment and agonize him until he gives up what He wants–
“Do you understand, Stormy?” Remy asks, the flame dissipating entirely from his hands.
No, Virgil very much does not understand. But even if he wants to express this, he does not. Instead, he turns to his journal, drawing wavy lines that have no purpose or meaning. Remy does not punish him for not responding. He just takes out a knife, running his fingers against its dull edge. He says words, things that have a sense of meaning and purpose behind them, but Virgil does not hear them. He waits and waits for Roman to return, for something to bring more clarity to his situation.
Roman does not return back. Instead it is a harried Logan who thanks Remy for keeping Virgil company and does not say why Roman did not return.
Part 2: More is Thy Due Than More than All Can Pay
That night, Virgil sneaks out.
The castle, like many old structures, is imbued with Ether. The lifeblood of the gods flows through its every nook and cranny. It is said there is a sentience to it that even non-Blessed have felt. The Castle knows its purpose–it is meant to keep unwanted intruders out. It will not let in those who will bring harm to its inhabitants. Such is the reason that there hasn’t been a successful assassination on castle ground for centuries.
Virgil can barely sense the Ether flowing through it now. It is so faint, he is not sure if he can trust that it is nothing more than the Ether of His Eminence, crafted and manipulated to imitate its more purified form.
He comes across the entrance to one of the lesser used castle towers. It is a familiar sight to him. When he first came to the castle as Patton’s apprentice, he used to sneak off there during nights wrought with insomnia. Now he seeks out its solace as an escape for the anxiety gnawing in his chest.
He rushes up the steep stairway, ignoring the growing ache in his legs from such exertion. But when he reaches the top, there is someone already there.
Roman sits there, his arms wrapped around his knees. His head is tucked into his chest, face hidden from view. Virgil wavers on the stairways. He should not hesitate. The choice is simple–he should flee before Roman is made of his presence.
Virgil does the exact opposite. He creeps closer, keeping his footsteps silent on the stone floor of the tower. He is about a foot away when he realizes he doesn’t know what to do. So he does what Patton would do. Virgil taps Roman’s shoulder, causing him to startle and turn to face him.
“Virgil?” Roman whispers, his face blotchy from tears.
He reaches his arms out as he tilts his head. Hug?
Roman latches onto him immediately and continues crying as Virgil awkwardly pat his back.
“I shouldn’t have ever insisted on leaving the castle. You wouldn’t have had to save me and go through all of that. Gods, Virgil you have every right to hate me and I don’t blame you,” Roman babbles, leaning his head against Virgil’s shoulder, “I hate myself.”
Virgil is reeling. He doesn’t understand what Roman is saying. No, no His Eminence told him he’d been taken because he was—is—weak. He doesn’t remember saving Roman. He pulls away from Roman to get a look at his face. Roman holds still, barely making eye-contact with him. Virgil opens his mouth.
“W-whaafgk—" He goes into a coughing fit, “W-w-w-wagfk?”
It is low and raspy, barely decipherable but still it is a word communicated through voice. He wants to elaborate more on his question, but his vocal chords freeze up. Because oh gods—he spoke. He shuts his eyes tightly, letting go of Roman completely. He shakes, and he is certain the world has ended because he spoke. Not once, but twice now through his hands and his voice. He has been able to be strong for a long while now–why is he allowing himself to falter now?
A hand touches his shoulder, but he doesn’t flinch. He leans into it. A soft voice whispers reassuring words to him.
“You’re safe now, my dark and stormy knight. I will not allow harm to ever befall upon you again, I swear it.”
He calms down, once he realizes that Roman hasn’t died because he spoke. He thinks—no, he knows it has to be Roman here with him. It shouldn’t be real. Because if it is real then it means everything that has been in the castle has been real. The food, the textures, the people. Everyone is too kind. But most importantly, Not-Roman never cries. It is Virgil who always cries.
Not-Roman is always placing the blame on Virgil. He always hates Virgil’s guts. He’d never claim it is his fault and that he hates himself more than anything.
Roman looks at him, his eyebrows furrowed.
“You asked me ‘what’ earlier, right?”
Virgil nods.
“Do you…not remember what happened before they took you?”
He shakes his head, staring at the floor. Roman squeezes one of his hands, causing him to look up. The Prince’s gaze is determined and resolute.
“You deserve to know.”
Roman starts telling him, and as he listens, Virgil remembers.
-
There is a day where Virgil happens to utter the words: “This is a dumbass idea and you know it.”
These words are directed towards the Crown Prince, who scoffs in response, “Oh hush, Mordread, it’s a brilliant idea and you know it.”
“We’re going to get caught.”
“We’re not going to get caught!”
“Yes we will. We will get caught by the guards or worse yet, you will be murdered outside castle walls and subsequently your father will have me executed for being an accomplice to your murder.”
Roman groans. He is digging through his wardrobe, tossing garments left and right. He then very intentionally flings a blouse into Virgil’s face, “Listen, I am sick and tired of wasting away inside this castle! If I have to spend one more day here, I am going to die!”
“Then perish,” Virgil says wryly, picking up the blouse off his face, “tell me, why have you come seeking my help?”
“Well, Patton and Logan are obviously too busy in their duties to assist me in my endeavors–”
“Wrong, you knew Logan would say no because it’s illogical and reckless meanwhile Patton wouldn’t do it because he’s too much of a rule follower for the most part.”
“Do not interrupt me!” Roman cries out, jabbing a finger in his direction, “I could have you hung for your insolence.”
There is once a time in a not so distant past that sentence would’ve struck some amount of fear into Virgil. Instead, he merely raises an eyebrow at it.
“Alright, fine, yes you are right!” Roman admits, “But please Virgil–a good prince needs to know the happenings of his kingdom. How can I do that behind a stone wall?”
“C’mon Princey, we both know it’s more than that chivalrous bullshit,” Virgil rolls his eyes, “out with it.”
“I’m curious what it’d be like to…not be Prince Roman,” The Crown Prince laughs sheepishly, “I mean, not be the Crown Prince? I couldn’t fathom such an idea of a world without my fabulous self!”
Roman twirls in a circle, practically giddy.
“But—” He nervously wrings his hands, “It would be nice to interact with my citizens without the formalities. Plus, with this disguise, I’ll be incognito!”
He wraps a shawl around his shoulders, doing a poor job of concealing his identity.
“What do you think?!”
Virgil withholds a chuckle.
“First off, is that a tablecloth you stole from the dining halls? Second, you’re not going to fool anyone with anything from your wardrobe. Everyone around a ten mile radius is gonna know you reek of royalty.”
“Oh? Can I take your words to mean that you’ll help?” Roman asks.
Virgil freezes. He isn’t actually going to help him, is he? The idea is ludicrous—there are so many reasons why and how it could go wrong and yet–well.
He can’t help but think back about how Roman dropped his bravado façade for a brief moment. Not enough to fully admit his insecurities. But just enough to reveal them to Virgil. Roman and Virgil don’t get along well—they had a rocky first meeting. Virgil assumed he was your typical pompous noble. Roman assumed Virgil would stab Patton in the back the first opportunity he received.
They have come to tolerate one another since that first meeting. Roman still refers to him by demeaning nicknames and disdain. Virgil still fires back at him with his biting sarcasm. But it is much better than before where the two couldn’t be left alone in the same room without starting an all-out brawl.
Roman has lived most of his life behind the castle walls. The time he has spent outside has been during parades or celebrations, where everyone has been on their best behavior. Or on hunting parties, in the forest where the common people are not allowed to hunt. He doesn’t know what the real world is like.
Still, Roman has enough brains to seek out Virgil rather than execute his plan by himself. Roman’s plan, as idiotic as it is, isn’t entirely without its’ warrants. It'd be good for the Prince to see what his people say when not in the supposed company of nobility. But most importantly, he trusts Virgil.
There is also the other fact that Roman is stubborn. Once he gets an idea stuck in his brain, it’s hard to convince him otherwise. If Virgil says no, he’ll definitely find a way to do it by himself. By the looks of the dinner cloth shawl, that does not bode well. But if Virgil says yes, he can ensure Roman’s safety. He’ll protect him.
“Ugh, alright. I live to serve, my liege.”
“Wait, you mean you’re–”
“--actually gonna help you with your crazy stupid idea? Yeah, I am. Let’s just hope neither of us regrets this.”
“Oh no regrets will be made, trust me!” Roman says, clasping Virgil’s hand, “this is a great favor you are bestowing upon me and as such, I promise to repay you tenfold.”
“If we’re going to go through with this,” Virgil says, holding onto Roman’s own hand firmly, “there’s a few rules you need to promise me you’ll abide by.”
“Such as?”
“Rule 1, outside these walls–you’re not the prince, you’re a lowly commoner. You have to believe that because otherwise nobody else will believe that.”
“Oh that is easy–I’m a natural born actor.” Roman boists.
“Rule 2, what I say goes. You listen to me out there–or else this is not going to work. And Rule 3? The minute something threatens your safety, we go back. Got it?”
“I swear by my mother’s gravestone, I will uphold your terms and conditions.” Roman says, his hand cradled close to his chest.
And well–Roman does listen. Throughout the walk through the hidden passageways of the castle and out into the bustling marketplace. When Virgil determines that they should leave for the castle before too many people take notice of the missing Crown Prince, Roman does not protest. All in all, it is rather...underwhelming how nothing went wrong.
In the passageway that leads back into the castle, Roman lets out a laugh. There is a grin stretching wide across his face, one that is a little too haughty in Virgil’s opinion.
“Look!” He proclaims, “We’re fine! Back without a scratch! What do you say to that?”
Virgil snorts, “You’re still a moron, you know that?”
“Ah!” Roman sprays a hand across his chest as if struck by an arrow, “While I am offended that you’d speak so lowly of me, the kingdom actually did not fall apart within the few hours of my absence.”
“Yet.” Virgil says, “we still have yet to return properly to the castle.”
Roman just hums, his glee untempered by Virgil’s coarse words. Somehow, someway, it is almost endearing. Despite the crown prince’s frequent open displays of emotion, Virgil has never seen him this happy before.
So when Roman asks him a few days later for an excursion outside the castle walls, he does not have to twist Virgil’s arm too hard on it. Until two outings turn into three and four, and they keep on going out. Virgil grows way too complacent, until the Ether calls out to him in warning one evening. It is a bright evening of a festival that has no purpose other than to be an excuse for good spirits and laughter.
It does not take long to decipher the Ether's meaning. There are several individuals that are trailing them, following their every move. One of them wears a distinct silver gauntlet–a silver gauntlet Virgil knows all too well. He does not know how they know of their presence, but it does not matter. They need to leave, now.
“Roman, we need to go. They’re here.” Virgil hisses.
“Who? I don’t see—”
“Shh! We go now. Rule number two, remember?” He grabs hold of Roman’s hand and tugs him along in a zigzag pattern.
“Hey—what’s wrong?” Roman yelps
“Danger.” Virgil answers, and leaves it at that.
He thinks they have lost them. But really, he should’ve known better. As they duck into an alley, they spring upon the two. Virgil does the only thing he can do—magic.
It is barely his second year as a mage’s apprentice and his connection to the Ether is weak. But he has to try—even if it kills him.
“Og Omeh!” He shouts, placing a hand upon a startled Roman’s chest.
His hand glows and with a bright flash Roman is gone. Virgil is left, collapsed at the foot of the Haldoofse, their pursuers. The spell has taken every ounce of his energy –but Roman is safe and that is what all that matters right now. Virgil has kept his promise.
One of them picks up Virgil by the shirt.
“What’d you do?” The man demands.
“Abracadabra.” Virgil mumbles, spitting blood in his face.
The man doesn’t like that. He raises his fist and then before Virgil can react everything fades to black.
-
Virgil cries in the midst of Roman’s own account of the events that happened. Roman thinks it’s his fault, but Virgil refuses to accept his apology. He keeps shaking his head. He does not have the words to tell him. They remain stuck in his brain, swishing around.
He saved Roman—he isn’t weak after all. But he still feels weak. If he’d refused to help Roman at the beginning, then he’d never been in danger in the first place. He’d grown too complacent in their numerous outings. His captors were right—he does deserve to be in that prison cell.
He doesn’t understand why the others freed him. Suddenly things feel too big, too open. He shouldn’t be here. Open is bad. Open means freedom and he doesn’t deserve freedom. He yanks his hand out of Roman’s grip and runs down the stairs.
“Virgil, wait!” Roman calls out, attempting to follow after him.
Weak as Virgil still is, adrenaline is a miracle maker. He races down the windy corridors until he discovers a small broom closet. He opens the door and closes it, dousing him in darkness. He scrambles away from the door, until his back hits the wall of the closet.
He breathes heavily and waits for Roman to open the door and drag him away. But he doesn’t want to leave. Warm soft beds and visits to the gardens aren’t for people like him. He does miss his journal. Virgil has taken to running his fingers against the raised edges of the cover. It helps ground him in times of panic.
Roman doesn’t open the door, though he can hear his voice in the far-off distance. The Crown Prince does not know he is here. He breathes a sigh in relief. Virgil sits and sits in the darkness. He does not think he falls asleep yet when the door does open, it jostles him from slumber.
“Virgil, are you here?” Logan.
He does not respond. He tries not breathing, but it only results in him breathing noisier. There is light streaming in from the doorframe. He is certain Logan knows he is here. Yet he does not attempt to drag him away from the closet.
Logan instead sits by the doorframe.
“Roman did not mean to frighten you by bringing up bad memories.”
Virgil says nothing.
“He is upset that he caused you such anguish. He is concerned about you being lost and hurt somewhere—Patton and I had been as well.”
He hesitates, before slowly crawling forward. Logan, concerned? The Royal Advisor often proclaimed how he wasn’t affected by such sentimentalism. But there is a soft look on Logan’s face. He does not make a big deal of Virgil showing his face to him. Though his lips do twitch upwards.
“I am pleased to see you are unharmed.” Logan informs him.
Virgil shrugs.
“It is not yet lunchtime, but I am certain we can find something to eat in the kitchens—”
He offers a hand towards Virgil, who shrinks back. Logan���s expression morphs.
“Do you not want to go to the kitchens?”
Virgil shakes his head. He doesn’t want to go to the kitchens or the garden or the library. Not even to Roman’s quarters and his soft bed. He does not know why Roman gives up his bed to him. He doesn’t know why any of them would love him after what has happened.
Logan studies him for a moment. It is not in a cold, callous demeanor like he has seen when They use his face. But more of a quiet, considerate one.
“Would you like to go back to Roman’s quarters?” He adds on, “We can arrange food to be brought up to the quarters.”
A slow shake.
“No?” Logan asks, puzzled, “You want…you want to stay here?”
Furious nod.
“Why?”
Virgil’s lips part—but all his thoughts come careening to a halt. He cannot speak, whether it be through words shaped by voice, hands or ink. He instead stares at the ground, unsure how to tell Logan why he belongs here and not outside.
“Here.”
Something rectangle is pressed into his hands. He looks to see it is a small brown leather journal. It is the perfect size to fit into a breast pocket and half its pages are filled already with Logan’s messy shorthand. There is a reed pen resting where there is blank paper. He glances up towards Logan, confused.
“I wish to help, Virgil,” Logan begins, “but I don’t know how to help if you don’t tell me—or in this case write to me about what’s wrong. Why do you want to stay here?”
Virgil frowns, his fingers curling around the writing instrument. Writing is bad—but that is only because he thought he’d hurt his friends. He’d thought this hadn’t been real but just a ploy by his captors. But this is real—isn’t it?
Virgil doesn’t know what to think anymore. He is a leaf blowing aimlessly in the wind. He is a ship lost at sea. He is a broken compass. What is up is down and what is down is up. Two plus two equals five. Dragons are benevolent, and unicorns are malevolent. The cow jumps over the moon and the dish runs away with the spoon.
If he writes, surely something will go wrong. It’s what the tightening of his throat, threatening to cut off his oxygen, tells him. But that is wrong—the thought, not the actual writing. He has refused to write to protect his friends. But Logan is his friend and he is with him right now.
If he wants to help Logan, doesn’t that mean he should answer his question?
No, he has to know that this is Logan and not His Eminence. Something that Logan possesses, that His Eminence would not know.
Shakily, he draws dots. Meaningful dots, with a line that connects through every single one of them. The Locutus constellation–the very one tattooed on the real Logan’s back. He shows it to Logan, pointing between him and the drawing.
Logan looks at it. He looks at Virgil. His Logan is smart, he figures it out without asking any questions. He turns around, raising up his blouse to show the beautiful ink etchings that stretch across his back. It is on skin that is blemished with irreversible blotches of an illness that nearly took Logan’s life long before Virgil met him. Both things that were always, always, always absent among the welts and cuts and broken bones that Not-Logan would endure.
He starts writing. His hand is shaky, and the words look like chicken scrawl, but they are words nonetheless. He doesn’t look at Logan as he hands it back to him.
I bEloNG hErE. It’S WhAt I DesErVE.
Virgil’s cheeks are wet. He is crying. He does not realize this fact until Logan uses his thumb to wipe away his tears. The journal is abandoned on the ground in the favor of comforting Virgil.
“I do not know what they told you, but I do know whatever they said, it is all falsehoods,” Logan tells him solemnly, “No human being deserves to be treated the way you were. You are entitled to basic human decency. You deserve adequate amounts of food, water and freedom. Most importantly, you deserve love. Do you understand?”
The words take a while for Virgil to process. He knows that His Eminence told lies–He’d execute ploys and tricks, anything to get Virgil finally break and tell Him what He wanted to know.
Where are the castle’s weak points? Does the Court Mage have any lovers? What is the Crown Prince’s fighting style?
The list goes on and on.
Virgil knows He lied and tricked and deceived him—and yet, he still believed the biggest lie of all; he deserved it. His Eminence told him he was there because he was weak. He was there because no one would miss a charity case of a mage’s apprentice. He was there because he deserved it.
But none of that is true.
It takes until Logan’s words for him to realize that fact.
Logan never lies. He likes cold hard facts. He says what’s on his mind—to the point that he’s sometimes too blunt with his words. Virgil thinks that maybe he can trust Logan’s words. They don’t magically fix all of his doubts and fears. But they help.
Virgil nods his head, hiccupping.
Logan envelopes him in a very loose embrace. He places his hands gingerly over Virgil’s back, prepared to draw back at the slightest hint of Virgil being uncomfortable. But Virgil leans into the hug, resting his head against Logan’s chest. They stay there until they hear the distant voices of Roman and Patton.
They are still looking for Virgil.
“We should go to them.” Logan says, breaking away.
The royal advisor stands up and offers his hand yet again to Virgil.
He takes it, after a moment’s hesitation.
-
He doesn’t see Roman for a few weeks after the incident. Patton and Logan both say that the prince is busy with his royal duties. Virgil doesn’t believe them. Especially with how their eyes dart away and they quickly change the conversation.
They start leaving him alone for short intervals of the day. As much as Virgil appreciates not being under constant surveillance, a panic arises from being alone. He feels safe in the others’ presences. When they are with him, it is easy for him to remember that they are here and that they won’t abandon him.
Once, Virgil liked being alone. He enjoyed long stretches of solitude. There is a peacefulness to it, listening to nature’s sounds or the noise of your own heartbeat. But that is then, and this is now. Now being alone brings back memories of the cell.
He’d liked being alone in his cell. Being alone meant His Eminence wasn't there to torment him. That was good. But just because it meant Virgil was away from Him didn’t mean he still didn’t suffer chained in a cell, with no food or water.
The nightmares are back. Nightmares where he screams and screams but no one comes and saves him. Worse, They show up to taunt him and make him think he’s brought harm to his friends. Sometimes, they make him doubt again if being in the castle is a dream and those nightmares are truly his reality.
So, no he doesn’t really like being alone.
Oftentimes, if it is not official royal business, they will let him tag along. Patton has taken him down to the room where he keeps all his magic scrolls and supplies for potions. There, Virgil sits in a corner as Patton conducts his work. The mage explains it to him as he goes, and Virgil listens raptly.
The two have been working on trying to relight Virgil’s connection to the Ether that has been extinguished. It took a lot of coaxing on Patton’s part to get Virgil to try again. Because what if he cannot ever use the Ether again? How can he be the mage’s apprentice then?
Nothing has occurred yet, despite numerous attempts. Virgil has grown disheartened at each failure. Patton keeps faith.
“Virgil, you performed a high energy spell and then you went malnourished for nearly a year,” Patton says firmly, “It is going to be a long while before you recover completely. And that is okay.”
It’s hard to believe that, especially when the Ether remains mostly silent. But Patton believes in it, and so he keeps trying for his sake. Because Virgil trusts him.
Virgil is alone, drawing, in Roman’s quarters. He does not know where Roman sleeps. Virgil has never asked the others that question. Nor does he question who it is that quiets him after a nightmare and lulls him back to sleep with lullabies.
(He already knows it is Roman. It has always been Roman who comforts him with a lullaby. Because neither Patton or Logan sing. Patton whispers soft reassurances while Logan distracts him with the names of the constellations. But he is half-asleep when it occurs, and the prince is always gone by morning.)
He is working on a drawing of a thunderstorm. Virgil is working on the shading when there is a rhythmic knock before the door opens. He tenses, scanning his surroundings for potential escape routes and makeshift weapons. He exhales slowly when he realizes it is only Patton.
“Hello Virgil!” The mage chirps, as he strides over to the bedside. He is hiding something underneath his cloak. It is bulky and cube-shaped. A box of some sort? A gift, perhaps? He notices Virgil’s inquisitive gaze and chuckles.
“I got a surprise for you!”
Virgil smiles nervously. He knows that Patton’s surprises are good things. Like flower-crowns or cookies. But the uncertainty still haunts him.
Virgil hasn’t attempted communicating with words since that moment with Logan. Strangely, the others have not pressured him to communicate, thankfully. What he does instead of words, is nod approvingly towards Patton revealing the surprise.
Patton grins, and reveals what’s underneath his cloak. It is a plain wicker basket with a lid. Something rustles from within the container—something alive.
“Go on, open it.” He encourages Virgil, holding the basket towards him.
Virgil places his fingertips on the lid, takes a breath, and then pulls it off. A pair of glimmering green eyes peers up at him. They are big and round and so, so curious. Virgil gapes at the sight for a long while—long enough for the being to get impatient and let out a pitiful wail.
“Go on,” Patton encourages, “she doesn’t bite—much.”
Virgil lets out an amused huff, before he reaches into the basket and picks up the creature. Now that it is out of the dark interior of the basket, he can see it more clearly. It is a black kitten—old enough to be independent from its mother. A ribbon is loosely tied around its’ neck. Its’ purple. Virgil’s favorite color is purple.
A slow smile spreads across his face as he pets the kitten. That can’t be a coincidence, right? He looks over to Patton for clarification, his eyes flickering to the purring kitten in his lap and back to Patton.
“The kittens are ready to be weaned from Lady Mittens,” Patton explains, reaching out to scratch underneath the kitten’s chin, “and I thought maybe this little lady could keep you company whenever Logan, Roman and I are all busy.”
Virgil freezes, his hand levitating inches above the kitten’s fur. The young feline is discontent with this, batting its paw at him to continue. He ignores it, as he blinks rapidly. It doesn’t stop a few stray tears from falling, however.
Patton knows he struggles with being alone. But rather than making fun of him or call it silly—he found a solution to Virgil’s problem. With this kitten, Virgil no longer has to be alone anymore.
Patton misinterprets the tears completely.
“It’s okay kiddo if you don’t want her! I am sure she can find—”
A finger presses against his lips, causing Patton to stop. Virgil withdraws his finger and the two stare at one another. Virgil breaks it first, an odd guffaw rising from his throat. He carefully deposits the black kitten onto Patton’s lap. The kitten makes little fuss about this, purring with content almost immediately.
‘No.’ Virgil signs, snapping his index and middle finger against his thumb, ‘love kitten. Love you.’
“I’m so glad!” Patton sniffles, throwing his arms around Virgil’s neck. The kitten squeaks in protest of being squished between the two. Thankfully Patton withdraws within seconds.
“You can name her, you know. I called her Blacky but since she’s yours now, you can choose a new name.” Patton says, petting the kitten to assuage it.
Virgil considers it for a moment. His eyes drift to the unfinished thunderstorm sketch in his journal. He thinks of the patron goddess of his home village and her signature weapon; lightning bolts.
‘Taran.’ Virgil decides.
Patton’s eyes widens at the name. The name of such a ferocious god seems odd for a harmless kitten. However, in his home village, to name an animal after a god is to invite their blessing upon you. Virgil doesn’t know how much he believes in that.
But he can’t argue that the distant rumble of thunder that happens moments later is just a coincidence.
Part 3: Toil and Trouble
Divine blessings or not, Taran’s own presence is its own blessing to Virgil onto itself. She is a reminder of the others’ love for Virgil. Being a growing kitten, she sleeps a lot. But during the hours Taran isn’t sleeping, she is energetic, demanding pets and pouncing on insects.
Caring for Taran gives Virgil a sense of purpose, a responsibility to uphold. It’s small yet significant for him. Logan goes on a long ramble about it—Virgil doesn’t catch all of it. But Logan essentially thinks the kitten is good for Virgil’s health.
It certainly keeps Virgil busy and on his toes, making sure Taran doesn’t get places she shouldn’t be. Such as in the present where he is chasing after the black streak that is Taran. He’d snuck out of his room, taking Taran along with him. He planned to go up to the tower, in the hopes of finding Roman once more. Just as he has done for the past week to no success.
It is doubtful he’ll discover Roman up there again. But he has to try. He has no hope of running into Roman during the daylight. The castle is massive and certain parts are restricted. It has been made clear that Roman does not want to see Virgil. Maybe not directly with words, but through action alone.
He is not content with that answer. Virgil has never been one to respect rules without question. He has always been the one to doubt things, to rebel subtly but rebel all the same. Even more so, he cannot understand why Roman is avoiding him.
Virgil thinks back to the last time he truly saw Roman. It’d been after Logan found him hiding in the broom closet. While Patton fusses over Virgil’s wellbeing, he stands there silently. His eyes bloodshot, his outfit rumpled—unbecoming for a prince. He doesn’t make eye contact with Virgil at all. He averts his eyes to the ground instead.
He leaves as soon as he can. And outside the hysteria of waking up from nightmares, Virgil hasn’t seen him since.
Virgil thinks about the state he found Roman in at the tower and the words he said to him.
“Gods, Virgil you have every right to hate me and I don’t blame you—I hate myself.”
Roman, the haughtiest prince in all of the nine realms, hates himself. He told Virgil he has a right to hate him as well. Virgil, for all his own self-loathing, knows there is some truth to the prince’s words. It is Roman who insisted on the escapades outside the castle walls. But it hadn’t been for Virgil, then Roman would’ve endured the same torment Virgil had gone through.
Virgil would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant he could spare Roman or the others from enduring that dungeon.
He thinks that Roman is hiding from him because he thinks Virgil hates him and doesn’t want to see him. Or rather, he thinks Virgil should hate him. Virgil does want to see Prince Idiot and tell him personally that he doesn’t hate him. He never could.
So he continually keeps visiting the tower and hoping for Roman to show up. He starts taking Taran with him. Usually the kitten falls asleep in Virgil’s arms halfway to the tower. But tonight is different. Taran’s ears prick forward at a sound not audible to Virgil.
Before he can do anything, the kitten wiggles out of his arms and takes off running.
Virgil stares, aghast, before the panic sets in and he races after the kitten. Because oh my gods, what if Taran gets hurt? What if she disappears and never comes back? What if she dies?
His breathing picks up, and it is not due to exertion. Trying to keep track of a black cat in the middle of the night is almost impossible. Virgil is almost certain he is going to lose sight of Taran. The cat ducks into a room and he stops.
There is a faint light coming out of it. Someone is awake and oh gods, Virgil is going to have to go in there, isn’t he?
Virgil could leave Taran in there. She is not an unusual sight in the castle, after all. There are several cats that roam the castle's parameters, keeping it free of mice, rats and other vermin. It is doubtful that the person would harm Taran.
He is worried for Taran’s safety regardless. Yet there is no way in hell he can confront another person like Remy who isn’t Roman, Patton or Logan. They are safe. Strangers are not. They’re dangerous and unpredictable. He refuses to interact with them, even with one of the others by his side.
As he deliberates a few feet away from the partially opened doorway, there’s laughter that comes from the room.
“Well, aren’t you charming?”
Virgil nearly collapses with relief. He knows that voice, even if it’s been a few weeks. It’s Roman. After all this time, he’s finally managed to find him. It is all thanks to Taran--though god or kitten, he does not know who to sing praises to.
He barges into the room without a forewarned knock. The sudden entrance startles the prince. He whips out his saber on instinct, cradling Taran in the other hand. The act of aggression causes Virgil to stop within a few paces of the doorway.
“Virgil,” He exclaims in a hushed whisper, sliding the sword back into his hilt, “what are yo—you scared me!”
Virgil doesn’t make any indication he heard Roman’s words. He’s too focused on Roman’s attire. He is not dressed for bed or in his prince regalia, but armor. Gauntlets, breastplate, the whole works. It is not his royal armor either, but that of an ordinary guard’s. There is a burlap sack beside him that is suspiciously bulky.
He doesn’t know what Roman’s planning. But by the guilty look on his face it can’t be anything good. Because unless the castle is under siege, there is no reason for Roman to be dressed in armor in the dead of night.
“Virgil, please, I can explain—”
But Virgil refuses to listen this time. He will not let Roman be in harm’s way from one of his crazy schemes ever again. He storms over there and takes hold of Roman’s gloved hand by force. He pulls Roman off in the direction of his own royal apartment.
The crown prince is taller and weighs more than Virgil. He has always been physically stronger than Virgil, who excels in other areas such as speed and stealth. Roman could easily break free from Virgil’s grip with little trouble. But he is too stunned to even attempt protesting.
When they reach his quarters, Virgil takes Taran from his grasp. He places the cat safely on the ground. Taran stretches before trotting off to go find a resting spot. Virgil then turns his attention back on Roman. He tugs at one of his gauntlets, wanting it off.
“What are you doing—” Roman protests at last, “I have to go, it’s for your sake Virgil—Ow!”
Roman cries out as Virgil stomps hard on his foot. Virgil who desperately wants to cry out how stupid that is. How could it possibly be for Virgil’s sake, if the last thing he wants is to see is Roman hurt? But the words evade him. Even though he knows he is in the company of friends he is—afraid.
Fear clenches at his throat and refuses to release its’ grip. What is once helpful in survival is now hindering in life.
He instead lights the candle by the bedside and writes something in big, blocky letters. With each letter his stomach threatens an upheaval. He ignores it, tapping the journal repeatedly once finished with the message. Roman leans over to inspect it.
“Don’t go,” Roman reads out loud. He looks up at Virgil, “But I have to go, Virgil.”
Virgil’s response is to push Roman, causing him to fall onto the bed. The prince attempts to rise but gets knocked flat on his back again by Virgil. He climbs into the bed beside Roman and clings onto his left arm. It’s too dark for him to use his journal or his hands to sign and so he hopes his actions are enough to convey their meaning.
Taran, apparently upset to be left out of the cuddling party, leaps onto the bed. She curls up at the base of their feet, purring loudly.
“You’re not…you’re not going to let me go easily, are you?” Roman asks, whispering so quietly Virgil wonders at first if he imagined them.
He shakes his head before realizing the light is too dim for Roman to see him. He leans closer to Roman as an alternative, holding onto him tighter. Roman lets out a defeated sigh.
He shifts, placing an arm around Virgil to embrace him.
“If you so wish, I will stay with you for the night.”
Virgil does, and so Roman stays.
There’s so much he needs to know from Roman. But now is not the time. For now, he is content to coexist peacefully by Roman’s side. Knowing that he is here, safe with Virgil, is all that matters. He falls asleep with his head on Roman’s chest, hearing the steady thrum of the other’s heartbeat.
-
When he wakes up in the morning, that heartbeat is gone. Instead, Virgil is left clutching at a pillow that is decidedly not Roman. All signs of sleepiness dissipate at once. He flings off the covers, as his eyes scan his surroundings of any signs of Roman. None. There is none.
Because Roman said he’d only stay the night, didn’t he? Virgil hadn’t thought too much of it at the time. But He should’ve done so. Because Roman is a dolt and did what he wanted to do anyways. Something white catches his eyes. It’s on his night stand. A white letter addressed in a fancy cursive script.
V I R G I L
He stares at it, breath hitching. With a shaky hand, he reaches down and grabs it. Taran meows, rubbing her head against Virgil’s leg. She probably wants something to eat. Virgil ignores her. He doesn’t want to unfold the piece of paper. He knows he’s not going to like whatever Roman has written.
But he hates uncertainty more than anything, and that ultimately wins in the end. The paper crinkles as he opens it up. His eyes dart across the piece of paper. Left to right, left to right, left to right. He reaches the end and starts over. Repeatedly.
“Dear Virgil,
It is my obstinance that has caused you unimaginable pain that you never should’ve had to endure. For that, I am deeply sorry. I cannot live another day knowing your tormentors still go unpunished. I have left to right that wrong.
Sincerely,
Roman.”
Teardrops fall onto the paper, marring the ink. The words swirl together until they’re nearly unintelligible. But it doesn’t matter. Virgil knows the words by heart already. He knows what they mean.
Roman is gone. Roman left him. Roman is dead.
Virgil isn’t stupid. He has gone to face His Eminence alone, by himself. There can’t possibly be any scenario where Roman doesn’t die. He is going to die, not before being beaten and bloodied. His Eminence is rather fond of slow, suffering deaths. Virgil has heard the screams of the other dungeon occupants.
He doesn’t want this. He could care less about vengeance. All he wants is for Roman to stay. Stay here, with him and the others, in the safety of the castle. But Roman is gone.
When Patton and Logan find him, he’s rolled up in a ball on the bed, hyperventilating. He clutches the paper tightly in his hands. Taran meows worriedly at him. They deduce rather quickly that he has heard the news.
Patton places a hand on his shoulder, causing Virgil to stiffen.
“Virgil, breathe.” He says.
Virgil tries. But the air feels too thin like he’s going to suffocate—
He can’t do it. Can’t, can’t, can’t!
“C—ca--c--” Virgil tries, grasping for breath. But he can’t even say the word “can’t”. How ironic.
A weight settles on the bed to the left of him. Logan.
“In for four, hold for seven, out for eight.”
What?
It takes him a moment in his state of panic to realize what that means. Logan patiently leads him through it. Even when he fails it repeatedly. Patton squeezes his shoulder, encouraging him to keep trying.
Eventually his breaths become steady again and Virgil is exhausted. He has woken up barely an hour ago and he is ready to fall back asleep again. He slumps against Patton, who massages his back. Virgil lets Logan have a look at Roman’s letter.
It takes Logan some time to decipher the tearstained letter. When he does, he reads it out loud for Patton. By the time Logan finishes reading it, three of them remain huddled close, and not a word is exchanged between them.
-
Patton and Logan explain later that day to Virgil when they launched an attack on Haldoofse that resulted in Virgil’s rescue, His Eminence had not been among those captured or killed by the King’s army. Assumingly, Roman had gone looking to seek vengeance against Him.
“The King’s best knights are out searching him,” Logan informs him, “they’ll bring him back before he does something stupid.”
Despite his confidence, Virgil knows Logan is just as worried as Patton and him. He can tell by how Logan clutches his hands together until his knuckles are white.
Virgil can’t stay put, however. He needs to find Roman. He needs to be the one to haul him back by the ear. He can do it. Virgil knows all about how to track down someone who doesn’t want to be found. He needs to do it—he can’t fail Roman again.
He does not tell Logan nor Patton about these thoughts in his head. He knows they’d reject the idea immediately. But Patton is intuitive, he’s smarter than anyone gives him credit for. He looks Virgil in the eyes and takes hold of his shoulders.
“Please, don’t go after him, Virge. We can’t afford to lose you again.” Patton tries smiling, but it’s too wobbly and more of a grimace than anything else.
Virgil sees those blue eyes, dulled with that unspoken sadness, and he can’t do it. If he leaves, then it means Logan and Patton will possibly lose not one but two of their friends. Virgil hardly thinks he is as valuable as the prince. But for whatever reason the others thought he was worth risking death to save him. The most he can do is to live and be there for them.
He can’t do that for Roman. He has made his choice. But he has to be there for Logan and Patton. For now.
Part 4: Blood Will Have Blood
Blood, there is so much blood. Gods, it won’t stop pouring out. Virgil can’t move—there are chains holding him still, restraining him. He can’t move—he is stuck in the cell again. Dark, dark, dark—the sun is gone. Yet somehow he can still see the figure slumped lifelessly in front of him, crimson stains on their armor. This is a…dream, right? This can’t be reality.
“Oh, but this is reality.” A voice says, causing him to flinch.
Had he said that last thought out loud? He can’t remember. Maybe His Eminence can read minds—that thought terrifies him. No, no that can’t be true. That’d mean all his efforts to not talk have been in vain. His mind has always been a safe haven. He could think and think whatever he wanted, and He’d never know. The idea that He trespassed into his safe haven horrified him. It’d mean His Eminence is just toying with him after all this time. It means he has always been a plaything for His amusement.
As if in response to that last thought, His Eminence laughs. It is a loud, manic laugh. Virgil flinches. Never has he so desperately wished he is deaf to avoid ever having to hear that awful sound ever again. He twists his face away from the horrific sight in front of him. Away from the cackling. He doesn’t get away with it.
Someone roughly grabs ahold of his chin and forces him to gaze upon it again.
“Looook,” His Eminence hisses, “Look at what you did.”
“I—I didn’t do it,” He protests, those wretched words freely pouring out of his lips, “I’d never!”
“Oh?” His Eminence tilts His head in mock ponderance, “So our beloved prince just happened to run into his own sword?”
White hot anger pierces Virgil’s stomach. He’d never hurt Roman or the others. Never, never, never. His Eminence knows that. That is why He hates Virgil. But with that anger is fear. As the two are oft linked hand-in-hand in joint matrimony with one another. Which is why he so vehemently denies it.
“No, I’d never—” His throat closes up with emotion but he presses on, “No, you did this—you killed him!”
His Eminence laughs again at him, that cruel, despairing noise far from what laughter should sound like.
“Me? I did nothing. You on the other hand?” Hjs Eminence smirks, “look at your hands.”
Virgil shakes his head. No, he won’t listen. He knows how this will end. But he can’t stop himself. He looks down at his hands—no longer encased with chains. Instead of metal chains, he sees blood. The fingers start trembling, but he can’t feel them. Are they really his hands—do those bloody, bloody hands really belong to him?
No, they can’t—he wouldn’t hurt Roman, it’s not real—it can’t possibly—
A hand squeezes his shoulder. He squirms, trying to escape its’ hold.
“Virgil!”
He freezes. He knows that voice. Patton. Virgil gasps, looking around. There’s no more chains, no more blood and no more Ro—he is awake. Or at least he believes that he is awake. This reality is at least more comforting. Patton is there, Virgil’s head rests on his lap as the mage massages his scalp. The touch is gentle and grounding. He is outside somewhere with Patton. He can feel the warm breeze and hear birds sing nearby. But where outside?
Virgil opens his mouth, words at the tip of his tongue. But the image of bloody hands causes his mouth to slide shut.
“I’m here, I got you,” Patton whispers, reassuring him, “You fell asleep and had a bad nightmare but it’s over now. You’re safe with me in the gardens.”
The gardens. Virgil remembers now. Patton had insisted that Virgil was in need of some fresh air. Patton was right, as he typically is. Virgil had been holed up in the crown prince’s quarters, having no motivation to leave it. Instead he has spent his time pacing the rooms and scribbling in his journal.
Sleep has not been a friend to him. It hasn’t been a friend for a long while. He has accepted by this point that nightmares will continue to plague him. But without the prince’s lullabies or rather—the prince himself, the nightmares have evolved.
Everything he closes his eyes, he sees Roman. Lifeless. Eyes glassy like dolls. Crimson red staining his white satin tunic. His arm outstretched, towards Virgil. He dies with a smile on his face. He dies, his last words reassuring Virgil it is okay. It isn’t okay.
Sometimes Roman knows that. He doesn’t die smiling. Instead he angrily blames Virgil for his death. Virgil thinks he prefers these dreams over the others.
His mind has crafted a hundred deaths for Roman, each more gruesome than the last. Each and every one of them Virgil’s fault. Sometimes he’s back in the cell, chained and unable to move. Other times he’s in that alleyway with Roman and unable to magick him away from the Haldoofse. But no matter what, it is always Virgil’s fault in the end that Roman dies.
Virgil can’t sleep. He tries avoiding it as much as he can, as futile as it is. The images of his nightmares lurking in the back of his head, sleep or no sleep. He is exhausted. The world is blurry, and his head hurts and he can hardly concentrate on anything. His journal pages have been reduced to squiggles.
He can’t sleep, but he must sleep to function. Logan and Patton have tried their best to help him. But nothing much can be done with his nightmares. Even Patton’s sleeping potions can’t prevent that.
Virgil shifts his gaze towards the sun, noticing it is significantly closer to the horizon than before. He had to have been asleep for about an hour or two. That would be the longest amount he’s had in the last few days. He wishes he hadn’t slept at all. He feels even more drained than before.
It has been nearly a fortnight since Roman left. It has seemed like years to Virgil, especially in his sleep-deprived state. The kingdom’s finest knights scour the lands in search of him. Still, there is no news whether he is alive or dead. For now, the majority of the kingdom remains blissfully unaware. They think he has simply gone on an extended hunting trip. It is the perfect season for hunting. The weather pleasant, the prey plentiful. It is, however, an illusion that will not last for long.
He hears a muffled sound and he looks up at Patton, who is still playing with Virgil’s hair. Patton is saying something, but it is too soft for Virgil to catch.
Virgil looks at him, confused, mouthing, ‘What?’
He still can’t talk. It isn’t like he is physically incapable of the action. His vocal chords are still intact. Yet nothing comes out, as if Ursula the great sea-witch herself snatched his voice away. He can only really speak in dreams. Bad things always happen when he speaks. Bad things that linger in the back of his mind and keep him from speaking when he’s awake. He knows it’s irrational. He knows they’re not real. But what if he makes them real?
He’s shaken from those thoughts when Patton repeats his words, this time a little louder.
“I said that we should probably head back inside,” Patton says, trying to muster up a grin, “let’s see if we can coax Logan away from his studies to join us for dinner, hm?”
Virgil sits up, offering a small nod.
Much like Virgil has shut himself away in his room, Logan has done likewise with his work. He is Roman’s personal Royal Advisor, positioned to become his right-hand man once he becomes king. As such, Roman’s father, the King, has ordered him to be in charge of recovering Roman.
Virgil sees very little of the King for someone who occupies the same castle as the royal. Even from before, this holds truth. But this is not an anomaly. The King has always preferred to be as far removed from the servants and the common people as possible. He hardly attends the royal council meetings, instead sending a representative in his stead.
“Of course he sends you in his stead,” Roman rolled his eyes once at a meeting, “couldn’t be bothered with actually showing up once in a while, did he?”
There were a few stifled gasps, Virgil included. Only the cocky, bullheaded prince could get away with saying such things.
“The Divine King does not need to meddle in such lowly matters himself,” His representative responded in a droll manner, “Please do try to show proper respect to your father, Crown Prince Roman. When one day you are in his position, you will understand how precious the Divine King’s time is.”
Roman’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he held his tongue. All throughout the meeting, he hardly spoke. Virgil caught him at times, glaring when the representative wasn’t looking.
As Patton and Virgil reenter the castle, they pass by two female servants. One with blond hair, and the other with ebony hair. They do a short curtsy towards them, a common act of reverence towards nobility. Virgil doesn’t think much of it. He is often trailing after Patton and Logan, both who are considered nobility.
Logan had been born into the nobility class. He grew up knowing Roman practically since birth. Whereas Patton, like Virgil, had been a peasant. His parents are farmers and he himself had the destiny of being a farmer until his link to the Ether was discovered. The title of court mage is of nobility, meaning he became nobility when he took up the title.
“Lyla, Aurora, you don’t have to curtesy for little ole me!” Patton says, attempting to wave them off.
A smile graces Virgil’s lips, a rare sight these days. Of course Patton knows these two servants’ names. He is good at remembering every person’s names that he comes across. Or making friends with everyone he meets for that matter.
“We know.” The blond-haired one says, glancing towards Virgil. He does not know why. Is there something distracting about his appearance?
He doesn’t have time to reflect on it. Patton quickly excuses themselves and they continue on their way. They walk through the stone passageways, lined with tapestries depicting battles long gone. Until at last, they reach Logan’s quarters within the castle.
Patton knocks in his patented rhythmic fashion. Two knocks, a pause, followed by three quick knocks in succession.
“Come in,” Logan says from within.
Patton bursts through the door, Virgil following behind.
Logan is sitting at his desk, papers and scrolls cluttering it. He is writing something, his back facing away from the two. Patton gets a sly look on his face. Virgil watches as he walks up to Logan, carefully to keep his footsteps light.
“Guess who?” Patton says, his hands covering Logan’s eyes.
“Patton?” Logan says, a soft warmth to his voice.
“Yup! And Virgil’s with me as well!” Patton removed his hands, allowing Logan to turn and look up at the two.
“Ah, Virgil. It’s good to see you up—up and about.” Logan says, yawning mid-sentence.
Virgil catches himself yawning as well. Patton follows suit. None of them have managed to achieve a full night’s sleep these past few weeks. There are dark circles hidden beneath the spectacles of the other two. Logan appears worse off than Patton. He sways in his chair, eyes bloodshot.
Virgil narrows his eyes, marching forward to pluck the feather quill from Logan’s hand. The royal advisor lets out a muffled cry, reaching for it. Virgil hoists above his head, away from Logan and hands it to Patton. He shoots Patton a desperate look, urging him to say something.
“Logan, Virgil and I came here to see if you’d like to join us for dinner…but I think you need more than that. I think you should take a break—until the morning at least.” Patton says, pressing his lips firmly together.
“I appreciate your concerns, Patton, but I cannot give up—not like before—“ Logan lets out a strangled sound, and he turns his head to look away from the two.
Virgil and Patton exchange looks. Virgil’s eyebrows are furrowed with worry. There is concern shining in Patton’s eyes. But there is also something other emotion flitting across Patton’s face. Virgil can’t discern what it is, and it bothers him.
Patton steps forward, “I’m not asking you to give up. We will find him, Logan. But Virgil and I aren’t going to let you destroy yourself in the process. Please, Logan, you can’t help like this. A person needs sufficient food and rest in order to perform their duties well.”
“You are using my own words against me,” Logan croaks, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes, “but…I suppose I see your point.”
Logan doesn’t admit often when he’s wrong. It irks him. For him to come close to it is a sign of his exhaustion.
“I’m glad,” Patton says, “You are important to us, Logan. We can’t afford to lose you.”
“Well I am not sure--” Logan starts, before crumbling underneath Patton's’ gaze, “Er, thank you Patton and Virgil. It would be...most inopportune to lose either of you as well.”
At the mention his name, Virgil startles. He doesn’t expect for Logan to acknowledge him. Patton did all the talking after all.
“Of course,” Patton says, smiling thinly, “now let’s get out of this stuffy study and get some food, hm?”
They take dinner in Roman’s quarters. It is mostly silent, other than the clinking of cutlery. All of them are on the verge of using their bowls of soup as a makeshift pillow.
Halfway through, Patton lets out a strained giggle. Both Logan and Virgil shoot him a questioning look.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was imagining what it’d be like if—if Roman was with us right now.” Patton says, voice cracking.
Virgil leans over and squeezes Patton’s hand gently. A small gesture of comfort. It is not a reassurance that Roman will return. Virgil can’t promise that. No one can. But it is Virgil showing Patton he also wishes Roman is there with them.
Logan huffs, rolling his eyes.
“Knowing Roman, he’d be making a fuss about the carrots in the soup,” Logan halfheartedly grumbles, “Despite my lectures, he did—he does not seem to comprehend the importance of carrots or vegetables in general.”
“You say that as if you wouldn’t eat Madame Crofter’s jelly for the rest of your life.” Patton teases.
Logan’s cheeks burn red from embarrassment, causing Virgil to snort in amusement.
“I—in any case, when Roman returns, perhaps a fitting punishment would be forcing him to eat nothing but carrots for a week.” Logan says, in an attempt to avert the topic away from him.
The conversation continues after that, but Virgil drowns it out, focusing on one word: When. Logan said “When Roman returns” not “If Roman returns.”
Did Logan really believe that? Logan “I’m Always Serious” Golic? Logan who always berated Patton and Roman for their flights of fancy? Logan who always advocates for logical, sensible thinking?
If Logan believes Roman will return, maybe Virgil can as well. Virgil badly wants to believe the next time he sees Roman, he'll be riding atop a white horse and not inside a white casket. Virgil knows better. He’s lived enough to be wise to the world’s tricks.
Reality is harsh and cruel and oh so unforgiving. It sets you up into thinking your fairytale ending will happen, only to snatch it away at last minute’s notice. Until the next thing you’re aware, you’re imprisoned in a dungeon and you’re never getting out—
No. He refuses to dwell on that right now. Virgil gazes down at his half-empty soup bowl, his appetite deserting him. Patton and Logan are still talking. Patton glances at him, concerned. Virgil doesn’t look back. He’s still thinking.
Maybe Logan doesn’t truly believe Roman will come back. Perhaps it’s only a charade, to keep Virgil’s and possibly Patton’s hopes up. Both Logan and Patton treat him at best a small child. They tiptoe around certain topics, incredibly careful in their interactions with him.. He is damaged, he knows this. But he can take the truth. If Roman is dead, he’d prefer to know rather than live in an illusion where Roman could either be alive or dead.
Virgil wants to use words to demand Patton and Logan to tell him the truth. He doesn’t do it. Instead, he sits and thinks how the others must’ve felt about his own disappearance. The others didn’t give up on him, even when he’d believed they did. He can’t imagine having to experience something like this a second time. Logan and Patton are better than Virgil will ever be. They have a continual faith that things will be alright. A faith Virgil cannot even hope to possess.
Someone places a hand on his shoulder. It pulls Virgil out of his reveries and back into reality. Weeks ago the sudden contact would’ve startled him. But Virgil recognizes that warm, gentle touch and knows he is safe.
“Hey Virgil,” Patton says gently, moving his hand to tuck a piece of Virgil’s hair behind his ear, “Are you finished eating?”
He nods, mouth twisting to form a yawn.
“Okay, we’ll send it away then.” Patton says, not at all angered that Virgil hadn’t finished his meal.
A servant comes and collects their dirty dishes. Logan rises from his chair, presumably heading to his bedchamber for the night. At least, he starts for the door but freezes midway through. Patton doesn’t move either. It appears none of them are eager to leave each other’s presences.
“Sleepover?” Patton suggests, his smile lacking its usual spark.
Logan’s face scrunches together. He inhales deeply, words already formed on his tongue then stops. Why, Virgil doesn’t know. Something causes Logan to change his mind. Patton’s wide, pleading eyes, perhaps. Or maybe he’s too tired to put up a fight he’s likely to lose.
“I will participate, as long as Virgil is alright with it.” He says.
The chair creaks as Virgil leans away from their questioning gazes. He should say no. The last thing he wants is his nightmares to disturb the others’ chances of a good night’s rest. He should say no, and yet, he doesn’t. His selfish desire for physical affection wins in the end.
Virgil nods yes, and he doesn’t regret upon seeing Patton’s smile grow wider.
The three of them don’t even change into sleepwear. They barely make it to the bed before they collapse. Logan and Patton fall asleep before Virgil. He can hear the steady sounds of their breathing. Patton’s head leans against Virgil, an arm draped across Virgil’s chest. Meanwhile Logan’s back presses against Virgil’s side. He is encased between the two, and he does not mind it at all. It is comforting, grounding even.
Still he lays between the two, wide awake despite his exhaustion. The bed is supposed to be Roman’s. The whole spacious bedroom is rightfully Roman’s. Virgil is hardly deserving of such lodging.
Yet, he understands now why Roman insisted on him staying here; guilt. Roman thinks Virgil deserves a royal’s quarters more than he, the rightful prince, deserves it. The fact the King allowed it is astonishing. But then again, when Roman gets an idea stuck in his head, it’s impossible to persuade him otherwise. Virgil knows this from personal experience.
Unsurprisingly, his fatigued mind is incapable of thinking about anything but Roman. Hot tears spill down his face.
Damn Roman for having the audacity to be more than a snobby, selfish noble. He never imagined wishing that until this moment. A snobby, selfish noble would be safe, behind their castle walls. Not traversing the kingdom, unguarded from its’ perils.
Instead, Roman happened to be a nearsighted, selfless fool. How dare he place his royal birthright in jeopardy for the sake of vengeance? He is the King’s only child. If he fell, the throne would fall to one of his cousins. If they chose to squabble over it, it’d mean anarchy for the whole kingdom.
The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. Virgil isn’t worth the whole kingdom. An apology is all he needed. Not this impossible task Roman has placed upon himself.
Roman wrote he couldn’t stand remaining idle while Virgil’s tormentors went unpunished. But how could he not realize they couldn’t bear to live in a world without him? That after everything, Virgil could hardly live with himself knowing he’d been—that he’d been the catalyst to Roman’s…doom.
Virgil closes his eyes, his consciousness growing fuzzy. The world swirls into a black hole of nothingness. He’s asleep. Not entirely. A fray of his consciousness stays awake. Just enough for him to hear muffled voices, a soft kiss pressed upon his forehead then nothing. The part of him that’s mostly asleep thinks it’s a dream. A pleasant one, compared to the others. But then the bed grows cold, and that sends warning bells to his brain.
He opens his eyes to find Logan and Patton gone. Just like Roman. Heart in throat, Virgil tears the bedsheets off of him. He abandons the bed, standing up as he surveys his surroundings. It is still dark; the sun has not yet rose.
He refuses to look at the nightstand. He will not read another letter claiming their actions as right and just when that’s bullshit. A noise erupts from outside, startling him. Footsteps. Loud and heavy, belonging to the palace guards. There are shouts. A commotion like this can only mean one thing; there is a threat against the castle.
Assassins? An enemy kingdom invasion? The remaining Haldoofse launching a surprise attack? Virgil doesn’t know nor does he care. The only thing he cares about is making sure Patton and Logan are safe. He refuses to let another person face danger because of him.
Virgil goes for the knife hidden underneath the bed frame. The knife the others have no idea exist. The knife Remy had bestowed upon him.
The knife at his disposal, he heads to the door leading out of the quarters. Something brushes against his legs, and he whips out his knife to see two glittering irises. It’s Taran. The feline looks unimpressed at his knife, her chin held high.
He puts the knife away. With a shaky hand, he reaches out and pets Taran. She responds by headbutting his legs some more, purring. It appears Taran came to send him off. Whether it is god or cat, he does not know. It is reassuring all the same. He withdraws his hand and opens the door. He makes sure Taran doesn’t dart out before closing it shut.
Virgil stays away from the light of the hallway torches, keeping to the shadows. The halls are silent. Too silent after the ruckus from earlier. With each step, he could be a step closer from engaging with an enemy. He hears rapid footsteps and holds back, behind a wall. It’s an enemy—it has to be.
As the person rounds the corner, he tackles them. He holds his knife underneath their chin, ready to slash—
“Virgil?!”
He pauses. Even with the hallway lit by torches, it is dim. Yet there is no mistaking Logan gaping up at him in shock. It’s more than just that. There are tear tracks on his cheeks. Logan never cries. Never.
Virgil’s anger from earlier gives way. He removes the knife away from Logan’s throat, unpinning him from the floor. Logan lays on the ground, making no attempts to move. Virgil frowns, reaching out to caress Logan’s cheek. His thumb gently running across the tear-stains. Logan surprises him by leaning into the contact.
Logan is not a very affectionate person. He will offer physical comfort, knowing others reciprocate better to it. Rarely does he himself seek it out. He primarily shows and seeks love in other ways; words rooted in comforting logic and acts of services towards others.
He’s only seen Logan actively desire physical affection in times of duress. Something is wrong. Virgil withdraws his hand, causing Logan to whimper. His eyes widen in horror at the pitiful sound that emanates from his mouth.
“I—I apologize—”
Virgil doesn’t let him finish that sentence. He pulls Logan away from the ground and into a protective hold. Logan lets him. He clings to Virgil, sobbing. Virgil scans the hallways, straining to hear any possible intruders sneaking up on them. But the halls remain silent.
Virgil hums, rubbing Logan’s back. Words still fail him, but humming is okay. He hums, the melody sounding suspiciously familiar. As if he’s heard it sung to him by a certain prince. The soft lullaby appears to calm Logan down, his sobs petering out into small sniffles. Eventually Logan is breathing normally, slumped against Virgil. For a moment, Virgil thinks Logan has fallen asleep.
Then Logan jolts, gripping Virgil tightly by the shirt. There is a wild, almost manic glint in his eyes. It’s far from his usual calculating, reserved demeanor.
“Virgil,” He says lowly, “Roman, he is—he’s—”
Logan inhales deeply, collecting his thoughts. Virgil’s heart rings loudly in his ears. It is only a few seconds, the blink of an eye. At the mention of Roman, and what are merely seconds has transformed into literal years for Virgil. He knows what’s coming. There is no other explanation for Logan’s anomalous behavior. He knows what’s been coming for days. Still, it will hurt to hear those words spoken out loud. To know that Roman is actually de—
“—alive.”
#sanders sides#virgil sanders#patton sanders#logan sanders#roman sanders#remy sanders#sasi#kat writes#i am now using the tags to be self deprecating and i must say this: im so sorry heard no more anon i have let you down on this#btpomt au
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c!Ponk came to get everyone, and we are finally almost not really to explaining the name of this au. I swear I’ll get to it in a few thousand more words.
Now, in Dream’s defense, his plan was amazing. Or at least, relative to other choices he could’ve made, it was a pretty damn good one.
Most people would argue swinging at a warden to draw agro was ‘borderline suicidal’, particularly in leather armor and on no sleep. But most people didn’t have excellent dodging skills and a stinky creeper hybrid they were dragging around that was basically a screaming neon sign for any predators.
Honestly, he was pretty sure he could’ve pulled it off if the hybrid hunters after them weren’t the stupidest people imaginable. Like, seriously, who sees a fuckin’ Warden charging at them and focuses on trying to net a rabbit hybrid of all things?
Dream hadn’t been expecting it, which was on him, and the net didn’t catch him, but it sure as hell did slow him down enough to let the Warden get a shot and that horrid screech in. After that it was plenty distracted by the hunters. None of them were getting up in the morning, so that was a comfort if nothing else.
He’d been running on adrenaline at that point, and he even managed to get back to Sam before his body (absolute traitor) flat out gave up on him.
The last thing he could recall was giving Sam directions, in hopes the man could figure out something before everything went black.
When he next opened his eyes, everything came back... slowly. The world was spinning, and his head hurt. His ears felt awful.
Surprisingly though, as he wiggled his body around, nothing else felt too bad? His left leg was.. it had seen better (and worse) days. But it definitely wasn’t broken to all hell anymore. Everything else felt okay. Mostly.
Actually, everything felt very okay. He was laying on something soft. Like, really soft.
His eyes snapped open, adjusting to a dimly light room. He was in a room. The walls were wood- nether planks to be precise. There was carpet on the floor, and little decorations around. It felt... homey.
Dream could swear he knew this place, but his head was pounding and refused to do anything related to thinking.
Closing his eyes again, Dream tried to relax his body. It didn’t help much. Okay, eyes open again.
Looking around the room a bit more carefully, there was a nightstand with... a water bottle? Water actually sounded amazing.
There was a paranoid voice in his head that said not to drink it, but he ignored that because if someone wanted him drugged, they would’ve done it while he was passed out.
Sitting up earned him sharp, piercing pains in his skull that were almost enough to make him yelp. He managed to hold it in and take deep breaths until the pain subsided.
Once he felt stable, he tried to reach for the water bottle. It was... harder than expected. His hand didn’t really seem to know how to move. After several attempts, he managed to snag the bottle and got it nearly halfway to the bed before his hand spasmed and the entire thing slipped, falling to the floor and shattering.
Well.
That certainly was one way to alert the homeowner that he was awake.
Despite being aware that the glass would almost certainly summon someone, Dream still found himself surprised when the door swung open nearly thirty seconds later.
Dream found himself face to face with someone who was distinctly, not Sam.
Of all the people on the SMP, Ponk shouldn’t have been a surprise. Nor was he... particularly concerning. He was a doctor, and Dream could take him in a fight if need be. Probably.
Not that he really wanted to fight Ponk. He’d really rather avoid that.
Ponk had frozen upon seeing him awake, unsure of himself. It wasn’t... it wasn’t unusual but it was bothering Dream. His tail twitched in annoyance.
His tail-
Oh fuck.
Dream involuntarily flinched back, setting off a new wave of pain in his head.
This was fine. It didn’t matter. Besides, Sam already knew something was up. It was a matter of time before other people figured it out. It didn’t- it didn’t change anything.
It did it did it was something about him and they would find a way to use it, they would find a way to twist it to hurt him, he knew better but he would survive it.
Ponk was speaking, jolted into action by Dream’s movement. Dream couldn’t hear him over the pain, but assumed it was something to do with the glass given that Ponk was moving to sweep up the shards.
Despite there being another person in the room him (unsafe, need to be on guard) Dream shut his eyes in a desperate attempt to relieve the pain.
He didn’t notice time passing, until there was a hand touching his shoulder. It was gentle. Hesitant.
Dream almost slammed into the wall trying to get away from it.
Reopening his eyes, he saw Ponk, now with a new water bottle. The man waited until Dream’s eyes focused in before carefully moving it closer.
As much as Dream hated the idea of drinking without holding the glass (can’t tell what’s in there, going to choke on it), he was desperate for water, so he allowed it.
The water was one of the best things he’d ever tasted. He gulped it down until the entire glass was gone.
It didn’t instantly make his headache go away, but it did dull the pain. He let out a breath of relief.
Ponk gave him a few seconds before very gently reaching over to move him so he was properly sitting up against the pillows.
About then was when Dream realized Ponk was talking.
More importantly, Ponk was talking, and Dream couldn’t make out what he was saying. A few words stood out to him, his own name came up once or twice, but even that was distorted. Like he was underwater and Ponk was far away.
Upon realizing something was very, very wrong, Dream had to make a choice.
Ponk was a doctor, if anyone could help fix this, it’d be him. But... if Dream tried he might be able to play this off. Hide the weakness.
He wanted to do that, he wanted to do it so badly.
But... Dream couldn’t risk his hearing. He had no idea if this was going to get better on it’s own or not. He’d clearly had a healing pot or two since he went down, and that hadn’t been enough.
No use pussyfooting around the issue.
“Ponk, I can’t hear you. There’s- I feel like I’m ten feet underwater.”
Yeah, something was seriously fucked. Dream could tell he was speaking, but his voice was just... not there.
Ponk frowned, taking a moment to think before coming to a realization.
Slowly and awkwardly, Ponk signed ‘you know sign?’
It wasn’t really a question. Ponk knew the answer. Both of them knew sign for Callahan, although Dream knew a fair bit more.
“Yeah. I can- I can see that.”
Ponk took a minute to think, before finally making his next signs, tilting his head.
‘what happened to your head?’
Oh fuck, thinking. Thinking was the absolute worst.
“Uh- I don’t- I don’t think anything really?”
The unimpressed look on Ponk’s face was more than enough to communicate his point. Dream rushed to defend himself.
“No- I’m not- There was a Warden, and it got my leg and my chest, but I know how to take a hit. I didn’t hit my head. There was a lot going on, and I guess maybe some whiplash might’ve happened? But I’m usually- I’m built for fast movements. Nothing should’ve- nothing should’ve done this.”
Honestly, Dream had no idea if he was coming out comprehensible. He was half gesturing along with his words to help communicate the point. Ponk still seemed to get the gist, his look switching to thoughtful as he took that in.
And then suddenly, Dream had a thought.
“Wait- The Warden. It had- it like, screamed? Really really loud. Like, I almost fell over. It hurt a lot. Could that have... done something?”
Yeah, from how Ponk’s expression shifted, that was the ticket. The man nodded, moving his hands in aborted gestures before seemingly giving up and crossing the room to a drawer where he dug around until he found a pen and pad of paper. After scribbling down some notes, he tore off the sheet and passed it over. His handwriting wasn’t great, but Dream managed to make it out.
‘Sonic attacks can cause inner ear trauma. Can you hear anything at all?’
“Uh, sorta? I could tell you were making noise.”
Ponk nodded, then scribbled down another note to hand over. This one taking longer. Leaving Dream to twitch his feet in agitation.
‘Okay. Good. It might get better given time then. It’s possible that because your ears have spent so long being magically altered to a different shape that it’s interfering with the healing magic. You also have a high resistance to healing magic in general. Have you been overusing healing pots?’
Dream... fuck, he was not getting into those memories right now. Given how Ponk asked the question... clearly he didn’t know. As much as Dream didn’t want to talk about it, it could be vital medical information. So he forced it out.
“I- I had a lot more than I should’ve in the prison. Didn’t... didn’t have much of a choice. They started losing effect a few months in. I’ve been trying to stay off them to make up for it but...”
There was a lot of emotions on Ponk’s face before he finally settled on a grim determination. Another nod. After a long moment of silence, he wrote another note. The sound of a pen scratching on paper was oddly comforting.
‘Thank you for telling me. Everything else should be okay. Had to rebreak your fingers to fix them. Sa Your leg wasn’t set quiet right, but it hadn’t healed over fully, so I fixed it. With any luck, some rest will fix up your hearing.’
Then, just as Dream finished reading that note, Ponk seemed to realize something and scratched out another, quicker note.
‘Your ears- you’re a lop? Also, can you eat meat?’
Dream had to read it twice to make out the handwriting, but he once he got it, he laughed.
“Yeah- they’re- they’re supposed to be flopped over like this. Uh- meat should be fine. Rabbits can actually eat it. Just not good to have too much. My digestive track is like 70% human anyways. If it’s an issue, I can just put on my mask.”
No sooner had he said that than Ponk was shaking his head vigorously. What? The scribbled note was a bit easier to read this time, if furiously scrawled.
‘absolutely no mask until your ears recover. could mess things up permanently. also not good to wear long term.’
Dream wanted to protest, and he planned to argue the second point, but he had to admit that yeah, magic alteration on still healing areas was a bad idea. It did present a problem, but not one he was going to deal with just yet.
“Okay. No mask. Got it. Loud and clear.”
Ponk didn’t look entirely convinced, but let the issue go. Jotting down one last note before moving to put the notepad on the bedside table.
‘going to go make you food. shouldn’t be long. shout if you need something.’
Dream had a lot of questions, like how he ended up back here and where Sam was (and if Sam was okay. Dream assumed that he made it out, but he needed to be sure. needed to be sure it was worth it. That he hadn’t failed). But he was very hungry now that Ponk pointed it out. He could wait and get food first.
As Ponk left the room, Dream debated on what he should do next.
A ping from his communicator settled that matter for him.
It took a few tries to get it open and check everything, but it looks like both Punz and Ranboo had been pinging him for the past few days. The latest message was from Punz.
‘dream, just heard there were hunters on the smp, they got sam and he only barely escaped them. please check in. i know you aren’t a hybrid, but it’s still dangerous. ranboo is safe with techno.’
Well, at least everyone had been alerted. And it seemed Sam had kept Dream’s involvement quiet which... had a lot of interesting implications to be puzzled out at a time when Dream’s head wasn’t spinning just trying to read text.
Typing was a pain and a half, but dream managed to send a message to both of them.
‘got taken, got out. alive. at ponks recovering. will return to base asap. turning off notification to avoid notice.’
That would need to do for now. The screen was making his eyes ache, and the urge to go curl up in a hole and wait for this all to pass was near overwhelming. Only the promise of food kept him awake.
Dream just needed to tough it out. His hearing would return in no time, and then he could be off. He and Sam could both forget this ever happened.
Closing his eyes again, Dream took a deep breath and settled his body to wait. This would pass. He’d been through worse. He could survive this too.
He had to. There was no other option.
#c!dream#dreblr#c!ponk#dsmp#dream smp#bunny hybrid dream#sif speaks#sif writes#my headcanons#apology cake AU#one of this days that name will make sense#maybe ill get to it this weekend
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WORST KISS EVER
Summary: lunch break offers conversations about worst kisses
Warnings: nothing (only my ugly writing probably)
Word count: 1k
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Finding myself eating shrimps for lunch has become quite the habit for me since I’ve started to work at the Five-O. Not that I mind, Kamekona’s ability to put those little commas in every dish and make it taste amazing is outstanding.
I transferred to Hawaii a little over a year ago, after my previous team was dismembered. Originally I had to get into HPD, but my curriculum caught the attention of the governor who presented me to Commander Mcgarrett… from that point after my life completely changed.
Working in the Hawaiian finest task force has been a blast… literally. It has been fun and, after so long, I finally feel like I've found Family; I also get blown up or shot at almost daily, but that’s beside the point and every time it feels like a little “get closer” moment. That’s what happens when you work with those five people. It’s almost like they attract bombs and bullets.
Somehow, the picnic tables at the truck always end up being witnesses to the most unhinged conversations between me, Danny, Kono, Chin, Lou, sometimes even Kamekona himself and Steve… today the topic, rigorously picked by Kono, is our first kiss.
“Oh, come on! It can not have been that bad!” that’s what she said, to which i replied “Kono, believe me…. It was, like, really bad”. I can't help but laugh at the memory. “In our defense, we were inexperienced teenagers, but still… it was bad and not even because we didn’t know how to kiss, but because the atmosphere and location were awful.” It was stupid of me to think that this would have been a good enough explanation for my nosey friends, in fact i shouldn’t have said a thing to begin with because now they will pester me till i don’t tell them every single detail.
“Surely you can go into more depth about it, no?” Lou chimes in with his usual sarcastic and witty tone, wiggling his eyebrows as everyone nods their heads in agreement. I roll my eyes and mutter to myself “I need to learn and shut my damn mouth”; after a moment of silence I sigh “it was during a game of truth or dare when I was a sophomore in high school, while on a school trip to a ranch.” “There are so many things in what you just said that sound so wrong, but please… continue.” I stick my tongue out at Danny after he, of course, comments on what I just said. “Anyways…you know how it goes. The same, overplayed movie cliche: I pick dare so I have to kiss the person I think is hot in the room. It was a disaster. We didn’t know how to kiss and we were in a stable, in front of everyone else and there was also a very strong smell of shit,” I explain “would not recommend.” Laughs erupt, obviously. “You could say it was a shitty situation.” “I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, Chin.” Seriously, that was a lame joke, but I can't help the chuckle escaping my mouth because, considering everything… it was, indeed, a shitty moment and the joke was just begging to be said.
At the end of our lunch break I stay behind to clean up, I hate to leave a mess for other people to clean. I guess that the few years of serving at restaurants in my teens really left an impact. Staying behind, though, gives me the opportunity to talk to Steve: “you have a habit, you know that?” “What habit?” he replies a bit confused as he puts the beer bottles in the trash. “You observe people having fun, more than you actually join in the conversation… you tend to do that quite a lot.” Looking at him, I just smile softly. He looks like a big tough guy, but he’s really a big softy. That’s one of the reasons why it was impossible for me not to fall for him. Steve always avoids sharing his feeling, what he doesn’t realize is that he has certain habits that show how he's really feeling and what is going through his head; some are more obvious than others: passing his hand on his chin when he’s mad, clenching his teeth when he’s irritated but can’t say anything or arching an eyebrow when he’s confused or he’s judging you… others are a little harder to identify because they are not something we all do:: him looking at the people that he loves having fun and smiling to himself being the first one. He’s not the type of guy to sit down with you and have a heart-to-heart conversation with you, but he will call you up and invite you out to do anything, just to distract you from whatever you have going on and he will remember everything that you told him about, even the smallest detail.
“I just like to see other people have fun, you know…” he shrugs. “Yeah…” I start “well, how about your worst kiss?” I ask, as we walk to his truck, ready to get back to work. “Oh man…” The cryptic response makes me chuckle. “Oh come on, it can’t be worse than mine…” Both the passenger and driver doors are closed shut. “I mean… we went to my house after the date and we were having fun, till my dad got back home earlier from work and found us making out on the couch. It was pretty embarrassing and then I had to listen to my dad giving me the talk…” “ow, that’s- yeah…" I raise my eyebrows and tilt my head as he starts the engine, driving then towards the Ali’iolani Hale palace.
When the car comes to a stop and we exit it walking toward the entrance, getting a message from Kono about a pretty big twist in the case we are working on, that leaves us rushing to the office and impatient to catch another criminal.
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Author: thank you @mayberrycryptid for the prompt idea💕. I hope you and everyone else that read it like it. Also let me know your thoughts. I had fun writing it!
#chin ho kelly#danny williams#fanfiction#hawaii five 0#kono kalakaua#steve mcgarrett#fanfic#Hawaii Five-0 fanfiction
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Had to think about this one for a while, 2 1/2 weeks max.
Many games go under the radar from many fans and companies. Many just become forgotten. But thanks to a friend, I’ve experienced a game that I’ve never thought I would enjoy fully. That game is Panzer Dragoon Saga, a game released on the Sega Saturn in 1998. It had a rough development cycle, being made while the Sega Saturn and Sega themselves were spiraling down due to the commercial failure of the Saturn. But thanks to people on the internet, the Sega Saturns Emulation is fully stable as the games rom can be found online.
Panzer Dragoon Saga starts at a dig site in the mountains, while mercenaries are guarding the area. In it they find a Girl surrounded by stone, but not long after they get attacked by their employers while they all get picked off one by one. All but one are alive, a young adult named Edge, after being shot off a cliff, Edge is awoken in ruins surrounded by gray ancient plates. He gets attacked by creatures of a by-gone age but a strange dragon saved you as you escape the ruins, venturing out to get your revenge and save the girl they took.
Right of the bat, you go straight into the gameplay, clean and simple. The only things you have to focus on is your dragon’s HP, SP, and any Status effects it has. There is no equipment like armor and the like, just whatever attachments Edge’s gun you’d like to put on it. To attack you have to use an action gauge (3 bars) to attack with your gun or the dragons’ many attacks. At one point in the game you will have access to many moves that does different kinds of effect to buffing, debuffing, Healing, AOE attacks, Shields, ect. At a certain point in the game the Dragon will be able to transform into 4 other forms, Attack, Agility, Spiritual, and Defense, each form can be chosen by via a slider so you can go either a balance Dragon or go one sided with your dragon.
There are items & intractable objects in the world of PDS so it’s best to explore as much as you can. Honestly it’s recommended due to this games length, it’s only 12 hours long minimum, I’ve personally hit 13 hours due to me just wondering around areas & looking for certain items that can help me with later fights. I recommend looking for items called “D Units”, there are 12 of them in total. I won’t say what they do but it’s a neat bonus for finding them all.
The story and look of Panzer Dragoon Saga are amazing especially its world. The Sega Saturns from what I heard wasn’t the best with 3D compared to N64 & PSX1, but ultimately these environments were amazing to look at. Nothing honestly compared to other games around the time, the detail in certain landscapes were impressive, Granted there are some pop in but it might just has to due to the emulation since it isn’t running on OG hardware. Final Fantasy never did 3D fully mainline till FFX, and Xenogears only did 3D for the environments rather than the character models. PDS does both and it’s insane how a console that can’t do 3D very well processes all of what’s going on screen. Yah, other games like MGS1 & Mario 64 are full 3D but idk for this game it feels different.
The Story isn’t the most ground breaking I’ve witnessed but it’s has some twists that I’ve would’ve not predicted. I won’t say what they were but there were moments where my jaw dropped and I just sat there like “DAWG WHAT!?” Till I went back to processing what I’ve seen. With the story being so short, it’s plot is way more focused than other games after it’s released, which is super refreshing in certain cases. For Edge and Azel being the main characters, they are pretty endearing, they aren’t to crazy as characters but their interactions all the way up to the end of the game fits the game’s end with a nice bow.
Overall, Panzer Dragoon Saga became one of my favorite games of all time. I’ve never had an experience quite like it, but sadly I don’t believe we’ll have something quite like it again. After it’s release, Sega was already setting its sights on the Dreamcast as their financial situation gets worse. While PDS isn’t the sole reason for it, it was non the less not very favorable sales wise. While it’s JP version only produced 100K copies, its US versions only produced 25k and worse its EU version? Only 1,000 copies making it extremely rare in said region. It can sit around for 1,000$ to 2,000$ minimum compleat as parts of it go for 200$ to 300$ and that’s only for the US. Due to the restructuring Sega was doing they disbanded Team Andromeda and folded them into Smilebit. Thankfully the game did get a sequel in the form of Panzer Dragoon Orta, taking place after PDS.
If you want to play the game in full I highly recommend getting an emulator for it (Mainly Retro Arc) since Saturn emulation has been smoother the past few years, there is a guild on the Wiki iirc. And if you are one of the few that are waiting for it to come to current Gen home consoles, tough shit. We don’t know the full story but due to the restructuring for the Dreamcast release and after the company restructured again after the Dreamcast died and moved onto game making. The source code is most likely lost or destroyed since there has been no attempts to rerelease it in some shape or form.
With all said and done, with it being one of my favorite games I’ve played this year, I give it unironically a 9.5/10 to a 10/10. I don’t think I’ll have the same experience that I had with this game with any other game moving forwards, but I’m glad to say that this game found a home in my head and heart. And I’ll fight for it whenever Sega tries to remake it or remaster it if they ever find the source code or have another studio help them create it from the ground up.
Ty Team Amdromeda and Sega for creating such an amazing experience…
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Arkhelios University
The agony in Roman’s head was proof enough that he was alive. Anything as painful as this had to be real.
“Abe?”
He tried calling out for his husband, hoping to hear Abe’s reassuring, familiar voice, but no one answered him.
“Adrian?” he called out hesitantly. Had he simply imagined being reunited with his first husband or was whatever strange dream he’d been having actually true?
“Roman?”
To Roman’s amazement, the once very dead Adrian, Duke Siew answered his call. He tried sitting up off the ground, feeling the cold concrete beneath him.
“Daddy?”
Luciana toddled over to the glowing blond man who’d appeared out of nowhere. She had never been given the chance to meet him, but Roman had shown her enough pictures for her to recognize him on sight.
“You did it!”
Theo hugged his sister, amazed to see his step-father again. He’d had every confidence that his sister could pull off whatever plan she had in mind that night, but the results were still astonishing.
“Adrian! Oh my god, you’re here!”
Roman wrapped his arms around his ex, pulling him into a crushing embrace.
Adrian felt warm and real and safe. Roman buried his face into Adrian's neck, inhaling the same salty scent of a man who loved to be by the ocean. Memories of sleepy mornings drinking coffee with their feet in the ocean flooded his mind. Quiet afternoons on soft sheets looking through baby books. Swimming naked in the waves. Kissing in the rain in the lush gardens of the palace.
"I missed you," Adrian murmured against his ex-husband's ear, making Roman blush despite the circumstances they found themselves in.
"Daddy!"
Roman and Adrian's reunion was cut short by the gleeful call of Theo. Adrian let go of Roman, only to be swarmed by toddlers. Roman swept his son into his arms while Adrian struggled to lift both twins at once.
"My girls!" he exclaimed, holding them both close. "I can't believe you're here!"
"Where's your father?" Roman demanded, only to have Theo point to a limp form on the ground. "Go inside and call for help. Tell Grandma to call a doctor."
Roman rushed to his husband's side, desperate not to trade one dead husband for another that night. To his relief, he could feel the gentle rise and fall of Abe's chest against his hand. Blood spotted the ground beside his body, filling Roman's mind with horrific potential scenarios that he fought hard to squash.
Abe was breathing. Adrian was miraculously alive. Kamalani was nowhere to be found. He had a lot of positive things to focus on instead.
Lucy didn’t even blink when Roman’s dead husband walked through the door, carrying two excited toddlers in his arms. Roman waited outside watching Abe, making sure that he remained stable until the ambulance arrived.
“I’ll be back for you when I know how Dad’s doing, okay? Stay with Grandma for now; she’ll take care of you.”
Roman hugged Theo in a crushing embrace, grateful to have escaped his near death experience to return to his kids.
“Take your zombie with you,” Elaine insisted, pouring herself a large drink. She gestured towards Adrian, who looked offended at the term.
“Excuse me? I’m not a zombie and I am usually referred to as ‘your Grace’,” Adrian replied irritably, crossing his arms defensively.
“My ex-husband and mother are walking corpses. You were a corpse and you’re currently shambling across my living room. I’ll call you what I want, Your Grace.”
Roman cleared his throat, hoping to diffuse the tension in the room. He’d never seen Adrian remind someone of his rank, but then again, he’d never seen Adrian escape the grave in his husband’s mother in law’s house either.
“She’s not wrong, Adrian. You should see a doctor just to make sure that everything is working right. I don’t want you to drop dead in a couple of hours without warning.”
“And just what happened to revive him in the first place?” Lucy asked, noting that Roman’s face looked quite flushed when staring at his ex-husband. “Don’t tell me that you made a deal with the sovereign. You can’t be that stupid. Not for some booty call with your ex anyway. You’re usually smarter than that.”
Roman shot her a dirty look but didn’t engage with her bait. Abe and their baby were possibly in danger; he didn’t have the luxury of entertaining Lucy.
“There are things that even the sovereign is afraid of, Lucy,” he replied, staring out at the night sky, trying to process everything that just happened in the last twenty-four hours.
“Some things are better off unexplained. I have a feeling that even she would agree with that.”
#sims 2#arkhelios#arkhelios university#Roman Bellamy#lucy chun#elaine helios#lukas lane#adrian siew#sim: adrian siew#sim: theo bellamy#theo bellamy#sim: Adrienne Bellamy#Adrienne Bellamy#sim: Luciana Bellamy#Luciana Bellamy
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RWBY v9 Thoughts and Analysis: E8 - Tea Amidst Terrible Trouble
The Warning up front is an absolute failure, and whomever was in charge of that should be fired and replaced with someone who will actually make trigger warnings that warn about the triggers.
This episode desperately needed a clearer warning than "there may be difficult themes" or whatever vague crap they thought would suffice, spoilers be damned.
Onto the actual episode
the 1st person shots have been used so. freaking. well and that continues here.
They always use this when they7 really went us to get into the characters head--so they just put us there, haha!
Anyways it's really effective.
I honestly thought Little would be able to help Ruby at least somewhat since they don't have the baggage with her that WBYJ does.
I was very wrong. Little tries, and Ruby once again refuses to engage, instead moving onto the immediate problem--but her ability to do so has crumbled, and now she shifts to a different defense mechanism.
Poor Little tries to help, genuinely not understanding, and Ruby pushes them away because she feels she cannot fill the shoes of a hero anymore.
"You have no idea what I've done. What I couldn't do. I can't do this!! ...I could never do this."
Listen to how her focus shifts. It starts at blaming herself for her actions, but part of her knows she is trying her best--so it shifts, and the problem becomes that her best isn't good enough.
Her best is failure. Her best is pain, and struggle, and limits. Her best is only human. And that's not enough. For others, it's okay. They can have limits. That's natural. But that's not allowed for her. She needs to solve the problems. She has to. Because if she doesn't, she's a failure. And that's not acceptable.
It doesn't matter what she does, it doesn't matter if it's her best, if it doesn't fix everything.
Can you tell I'm familiar with her mindset? 😅 I don't alienate people like she's doing, but there was certainly a time where i thought everyone in my life was worse off with me in theirs just as Ruby does.
Another butterfly.
I wonder if the spotlight is real? you never know in the Ever After
Ah, a big ol' mansion. maybe a recreation of the one she burned down in Roman Holiday?
(btw, REALLY appreciate that that book definitely heightens this episode, but is nowhere near necessary to understand it. take notes, other transmedia franchises)
There she is. Trivia Vanille. The girl Neo was trapped within. And her ableist parents who couldn't accept that their daughter was mute.
Neo and Cinder. Another relationship that Neo went in thinking ought to be stable, wasn't.
And of course, the cream of the crop-Neo and Roman. The ultimate fallen relationship for Neo.
All three had Neo attaching herself to someone, hoping it would be the relationship she craved. Someone who actually cared about her.
Only one of these three filled that hole, and it's the one that broke her. Which is why it's the one she replicates here.
Roman makes a fantastic return at the worst possible time for Ruby.
Seriously though--top-tier performance, top tier animation. Love his body language, the casual kick of the legs of the corpses in front of him was perfect.
RIP to the amazing actor behind Roman's return.
The whole thing is absolutely a worthy return for the fan-favorite character. But uh, maybe we ought to be careful what we wish for, eh FNDM?
Speaking of
I can safely so no one expected this. Sure, there were plenty of theories about how this or that character would come back.
Well? Happy now folks? You couldn't accept some of these characters were dead, and now they're back in the worst way hahaha.
Anyways. Bold move. And i definitely never expected the shadows behind Neo in the opening to be these characters.
Ironwood, Ozpin, Clover, Lionheart, Pyrrha, and of course Penny.
Neo must have spent ages unseen gathering as much information on Ruby as possible. We know she spent most of Volume 7 undercover.
Clover and Lionheart are odd picks. I guess Clover represents the fracture with the Ace-Ops, while Lionheart is someone Ruby trusted--and probably blames herself for trusting, or maybe for not being able to bring him back from Salem's side.
God, Roman is such a showman, He was when he was alive, and he is now that he's dead. Neo comes by it rightly.
Gotta love that for everything she blames herself for, she knows damn well Neo's grudge is bullshit. Thing is--Neo is past the point of caring whether her rage makes sense or not. It's all she's got left.
God, Neo's puppets are so freaky. CRWBY did an incredible job with them.
For all Ruby's self hate has festered, she's not at the edge. Not yet. And she won't go there without a fight.
Unfortunately, Neo's all too happy to provide one.
"Im going to enjoy watching you break" they all say as Neo sways happily
Proper horror vibes here
The various responses WBYJ have here are FASCINATING
Yang is the only one who seems genuinely upset--or at least, upset in a way that leads to outbursts. the rest are upset in...different ways.
"Dammit, how could she just run off like that?"
I think Yang is blaming herself a bit for not seeing it tbh. I think the anger she expresses at Ruby running off is at least in part anger at herself.
But then...there's also the part of her that remembers what it's like to be left....For family and loved ones to decide they can't be there anymore. There's a decent chance this triggered Yang's abandonment trauma now that i think about it...
Blake...gets it a bit more. She understands that sometimes, people run when they don't know what else to do. When they feel like they can't face the people they love.
Weiss, interestingly, is the one who's reflecting on word choice specifically--very meaningful considering her slight regression this volume and some of the ways she's snapped at Ruby while in the Ever After.
And while she speaks...Jaune reacts. He doesn't have much to say this episode, but his reactions are very meaningful. And as Weiss speaks about the pressure that they've all unknowingly been putting on her, Jaune reflects. He clearly regrets everything he said at the end of last episode.
Yang: "it's not like we were asking her to be perfect..."
And then, in the pause after she says that, you can practically hear the unspoken question:
"...….were we?"
Ironwood: "Who were you to think you knew what was best for Atlas?"
all her doubts about trusting him, lying to him. Ruby thinking maybe if she had just trusted him in the first place, things would have turned out okay.
Pyrrha: "I was the best and brightest Beacon had to offer. I traded my life so that my friends could live!"
Ruby's feelings she couldn't make Pyrrha's sacrifice worthwhile, as well as that she didn't deserve to be at Beacon the way Pyrrha did.
Penny: just like you were too late to save me at the Vytal festival. i died in Atlas too, didn't I?
Neo didn't see Penny die, but she knew how Ruby was acting, and clearly she knew how deep their bond was, so she figured it out. She was also probably spying on our heroes a lot more than we were privy to.
"Can you imagine what that's like? To be completely and utterly failed by someone who meant the world to you?"
There's a few different ways to interpret Ruby's blush.
Personally, I'm not sure she was in love with Penny. But I think the mere possibility of Penny being in love with her is very meaningful to her either way.
Pyrrha: "how many more people are going to die because of YOU?!?"
Ruby actually tries to push back
"I'm trying to save everyone!!!"
Ironwood: "And yet with all your best intentions, have you ever stopped to wonder if you've done more harm than good?!"
Neo knows damn well she has, and she's giving that fear external validation.
She still tries to push back though
"It's not my fault!"
Ozpin: "How many more lives do you have to RUIN to realize that you're not cut out to save ANYONE?!?!"
This coming from Ozpin is key, because he represents both the person Ruby looked up to for so long and wished to be trained by, and a man who caused an awful lot of pain through his failures. Both of those Ozpins are judging her in this moment. She's not a hero like she thought he was, and she's caused more pain than he ever did by pretending to be.
Ruby killing Oscar is a hell of a striking visual.
All her loved ones looking down on her in judgement.
and the cat comes in, takes Neo out...and creates a whole new set of problems.
Another 1st person shot, putting the Cat in a shot that has them looming over us and Ruby, already indicating something isn't right.
"I...I'm sorry. I don't...want to be me...anymore..." the pain in this girls voice 💔
Though of course...ascension isn't about not wanting to be yourself anymore. It's about becoming someone else. This already shows that drinking the tea would be unnatural, even by the Afteran rules.
Goddamn this twist, y'all. CC was dubious, and clearly at best a neutral force, but this...this is just plain evil.
I guess we know why they were so upset at Herb now.....if Ruby began to heal or if she ascended--whichever Herb was leading her towards--she would no longer be a potential vessel.
"I'm not like the other afterans here. I'm cursed with curiosity, I need to know everything--but more than anything i need to know why my Makers left me here only to leave and make all of--"
Okay so the V9 roundtable for last week confirmed CC was talking about the Two Brothers here...BUT they singled out that the Brothers created the Curious Cat, leaving it unclear if they created the Ever After itself. i mean especially with CC explicitly saying they are unique among Afterans, it's not impossible, and I would definitely find that very fascinating.
GO LITTLE NO THIS CAT ISNT A FRIEND
Neo vs CC
NOOOOOOOOOOOO LITTLE
They'll be back. They'll ascend. And maybe they'll be the friend, the Guide, Ruby needs.
But hot damn that was brutal. Neo literally smushed them under her heel.
And WBYJ come in, and they have no idea what's going on. A mansion? But it looks like a battle happened here? Wait Ruby? holy hell what happened to Ruby?!? Why is she...what's in that tea? Did Neo give it to her? Why would she drink tea Neo gave her?! What is going on?! and Roman is there?!? telling her the world would be better off without her?!
They have barely begun to process everything, and then Ruby drinks the tea and she falls into the Ever After (with Little) and they piece it all together, but it's too late. Ruby is gone.
And Neo...is empty. She put everything she had into this. There was no meaning, no life, no joy to be found. There was just rage. And now that the source of her rage is gone....there's nothing left. Her own Puppet celebrates and tries to tempt her ambition but...her ambition is gone. She doesn't want to rule. she doesn't...want. She put everything she had into Revenge, and now there's nothing left. And all she can do is sit there, staring straight ahead, realizing just how futile this has all been.
Freaking love the cracked chair visuals btw, not to mention the entire mansion crumbling as Neo does, giving us a direct insight into her mindset (and also confirming that her enhanced semblance created the entire place, not just the Puppets or the details of the house)
Jaune speaks for the first time this episode, and for the first time this volume he speaks not as a broken man, but as Ruby's best friend: "Take us to her"
“You still don't get it, do you?! It’s not a place you go, it’s a place you know” I've been thinking on that line
What if when you go to the Tree, it takes you to a place in your life that’s meaningful to you. Like say, Summer’s grave?
Perhaps that meaningful place is where you sort out your feelings and figure out who you want to be, with the help of a guide perhaps? Maybe someone related to that place....like Summer?
And that’s why people can’t follow you there, and why the tree goes to you. It's too personal for anything else.
Moving on, I wonder why CC needs to possess someone from Remnant to go to Remnant
Oh dear
WBYJ sees CC staring hungrily at Neo, but without the knowledge we just became privy to they can just barely piece together what might be about to happen
We don't know if Jaune was right about the tree, or even Alyx
But he was damn right about the Cat
damn they went full nightmare fuel with CC this episode
And Neo is terrified...but she has nothing left to motivate resistance against the cat's possession.
People theorized for years about when Neo would talk for the first time. First of all, she's mute and can communicate perfectly well. The idea that her talking for the first time would be some big emotional moment is ablest as hell.
and now, once again, another wish granted. Neo's talking. happy?
She is possessed and being puppeted by a selfish magical nightmare cat with sharp fangs and incredibly powerful abilities, but she's talking! Hooray i guess?!
"The Rusted Knight. Goodness am I tired of your little sob story. You can't even accept your own futility"
okay so first of all can we call this Nightmare Neo, because i think it's the only term that can apply to something this horrifying
Second, jaune's inability to move on and getting stuck in essentially arrested development and all that messed up stuff with the Paper Pleasers...actually seems top have made him simply a bad target for the Cat. So...bright side i guess? Still probably would've been better for him to heal...but at least he held onto himself.
Oh wow. The Cat's powers....AND Neo's Ever-After-powered semblance?! Together?!
Holy hell. What could possibly be next?
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